


Taking Flight

by EmptySurface



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/M, Fem!Harry, Post-Canon, travelling, wing!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26048362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmptySurface/pseuds/EmptySurface
Summary: “I'd like to give an announcement,” she began, feeling like she was about to give a formal address. When all that got her was expectant silence and focus, she cleared her throat again. “It's been a year now, and the repairs are mostly done, things have calmed down, the trials are mostly over with and things are returning to normal,” she began. “Hermione, Kingsley, Percy and Arthur are all at the Ministry to make sure nothing disastrous happens and Neville is keeping the Auror Force on track.” She glanced at her friend, who blushed bright red at the praise. “Ron's joining him and, I figured I should go on an extended vacation.” Harry was silent a moment to let her family absorb the news.Deciding to go on a Migration was the best decision Harry had ever made.
Relationships: Fon (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)/Harry Potter
Comments: 187
Kudos: 1405
Collections: More or Less than Human in the Katekyo Hitman Reborn worlds





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Started writing this ages ago and finally decided to brush off the dust, tinker a bit with the details and post the first chapter!

Surviving the war hadn't been very high on the list of what Harry had thought was possible.

It had been a realisation that had slowly but steadily grown more firm in her head over the span of _years_.

Ever since she'd met Ron on the train that first time, his wings small and a downy brown-yellow, hair flaming red and freckles standing out sharply on his face.

Her own wings had been equally small, of course, and just as downy and useless. In the way.

Ron had made her feel better about it, though.

“Nearly all my siblings have wings, see,” he'd told her cheerfully. “Mum and dad don't have them, and not Charlie and the twins, but everyone else.”

It had seemed fantastical to her, who had only known the Dursleys and the people of Little Whinging, who hadn't cared much for Harry's fledgling wings.

Her classmates had complained about them blocking the view, taking up too much space and she had always been shunted off to the back of the classroom where she 'hadn't been in the way'.

Not that her academic life would have been all that different if they hadn't, but... it was the principle of the matter.

Then she'd learned -also courteous of Ron- that Magicals were slightly more inclined to be born with wings. No one knew quite why, but there were theories about it having to do with the magic.

Purebloods in particular could be pretty snobbish about it, Ron had told her, looking sheepish about the whole thing, what with being a Pureblood himself.

Of course, then Draco Malfoy had strutted into their compartment like he owned it and reinforced the sentiment quite firmly.

Hermione had come later, after the troll.

And they'd stuck by her through the years, through ups and downs and _always_ there when it really mattered.

She'd grown into her adolescent feathers in the summer before her fourth year, and the moment Draco had caught sight of her wings, he'd called her a cow. Due to the dark brown and white splotches her feathers had made up, making her wings indeed look similar to the hide of a bovine.

Hadn't made it sting any less when all the other Houses had taken up the nick-name for her once the Triwizard disaster had struck.

Nice times.

It hadn't really helped that Ron had grown into his own feathers, with... slightly different -but at the same time not- results than Harry.

And then, of course, Malfoy had thrown it in his face at the worst opportunity.

“You're a _goose_ , Weasley!” the Slytherin boy had cackled loudly outside the Potions' classroom, and it had been all Harry and Hermione had been able to do to keep him from pummelling Draco's face in.

Not to mention that Harry had been tempted to do so herself on behalf of her friend.

I had been _so satisfying_ when Ron had grown more into himself a year later, snapping his wings open in anger and telling Draco in no uncertain terms that he was a _gander_ , thank you very much; he was _male_.

And people always got shocked when Ron spread his wings and they realised just how _big_ they actually were.

“Geese are strong long-distance flyers, Ron. They've even been revered in History as envoys of various Gods,” Hermione had told him, smiling encouragingly at a Ron with increasingly red ears.

Harry had been forced to hide a smile with her hand.

“I've been reading up over the summer,” Hermione had replied easily when Ron had asked her about where she'd learned that, and had then proceeded to shock the girl by asking if he could borrow the book.

“If you ask me, your wings are beautiful, Ron,” Harry had added her own two knuts, looking admiringly at her friend's soft grey wings. Every feather with a white trim, which made the wings look like works of art. Or like an intricate mosaic.

Harry's own wings... hadn't seemed to want to _stop growing_.

It had gotten to the point where her fellow students had started giving them long looks when they'd thought she wouldn't notice.

Draco, the utter ponce, had grown into a pair of very colourful wings of the kind of the European Bee-Eater, just like his father; he never stopped crowing about it, every opportunity he got.

“Bloody peacock,” Ron had muttered under his breath, much to Harry and Hermione's amusement.

The last few years of her schooling, Harry's wings had been a splotchy dark brown, light brown and white, and neither she, Ron or Hermione had been able to figure out what kind of bird they resembled even when they'd pooled their resources.

“You're just gonna have to wait and see,” Ron had told her with a shrug and a sympathetic smile.

Harry had sighed and pushed the issue to the back of her head.

Not that there had been a lack of things to distract her, what with the brewing war and rising tensions. Voldemort's looming shadow coming closer every day.

And now...

Harry smoothed careful fingers down her right wing, feeling the soft, sleek feathers against her skin.

The white was gone, and she'd hardly noticed.

She moulted a little -a few feathers here and there- most of the time, except in winter, but she had just been too busy to pay much attention to it lately.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Harry scrutinized her own reflection a moment, flexing and flaring her wings as much as she was able in the cramped space, trying to see them from every angle.

They were deep brown, like high-quality chocolate- with softer highlights. Making them look almost gold in places.

With a small sigh, Harry got dressed and exited the bathroom to join the rest of the Weasley family for a much anticipated family dinner; they'd all been far too busy in the last year to have had time to gather all together like this for more than a few moments, and there had usually always been at least one person missing even then.

Everyone was here now, though.

Molly had made sure to ensure Andromeda and Teddy would be present, too, which Harry couldn't help but smile at.

Her little godson was adorable and Harry could easily admit she'd do almost anything for him.

“Are you finally done?” Ginny asked when she spotted her come into the kitchen.

Instead of irritated -like most people might be- Ginny gave her a purely sympathetic look, glancing over Harry's massive wings before going back to what she'd been doing; helping Molly prepare some dish, it looked like.

Harry sighed. “Yeah. Grooming these things takes forever,” she groused as she went up to grab the china that had been placed off to the side on the counter, where it wouldn't be in the way.

“You know I'd offer to help, but things are just as crazy as ever,” Ginny muttered, frowning down at the salad she was making.

Harry hummed non-committally, glancing at Ginny's wings as she walked past her to set the table.

The younger witch's wings were chestnut brown, with darker tips and speckles in the same colour. The undersides were cream white and lightly speckled, too. Most of all, though, they were a far more manageable size than Harry's.

On top of being breathtakingly beautiful.

Ginny had kestrel wings, and Harry felt like they fit her to a T.

At the thought, Harry made sure to tuck her own wings as tightly to her back as she could, mindful not to sweep anything to the floor on accident.

Even folded as carefully and firmly as possibly, Harry's wings still damn near dragged along the floor behind her when she walked.

It was ridiculous.

“Shouldn't we be eating outside if everyone's coming?” Harry asked, not pausing in her setting of plates around the large wooden table in the middle of the homey kitchen.

“Probably, but it looks like rain, and no one's had the time to set up any kind of counter-measure to that,” Ginny answered, not looking up from her work. “Just think of it like one big group hug,” she added with a clear grin in her voice.

Harry snorted amusedly and finished her own task just in time for Molly to come bustling into the room.

“Oh, you girls are all but done; excellent!” She smiled, looking a bit distracted.

It might have had something to do with how she immediately went to check on the roast in the oven and what else she was cooking in there; it all smelled delicious.

“Harry, dear, Ron and Hermione will arrive any minute, so could you ask them both to help you prepare the last few things?” Molly requested, hurrying out of the kitchen again before she could receive an answer.

“It's good to see mum doing better, isn't it?” Ginny asked quietly, her wings resettling against her back as she came to stand next to Harry, looking after her mother with a sad, contemplative look on her face.

“Yeah,” Harry returned, running a hand through her hair.

Everyone had had a hard time learning to live without Fred, but Molly... he'd been one of her babies.

A few minutes later, the fireplace flared with green flames, before Hermione Granger stepped into the Burrow kitchen.

“Harry, Ginny.” She smiled, stepping up to them to give them a tight hug each.

Only to be followed by Ron, who did much the same, only he also wrapped them in his wings for an extra tight embrace.

“How are you?” he asked, once he'd put his little sister back down on her feet.

“Good; I'm pretty much done with all my preparations,” Harry said, instantly drawing all three of their full attention. “I mean, the restorations are pretty much done here, Hermione's with Kingsley in the Ministry, so I won't have to worry about that, and I just-” she sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “I need a break,” she admitted tiredly.

The constant attention was getting to her. Had been getting to her for a long time.

“I know,” Ron replied quietly, placing one hand on her shoulder in a comforting matter.

“I'm just not sure it's a good idea,” Hermione said firmly, looking worried but resigned.

“Yeah, why don't you just seek out an ornithologist to find out what sort of wings you have?” Ginny asked, though she said it in a joking fashion, rather than as a serious suggestion.

Harry rolled her eyes.

Charlie chose that moment to stride into the kitchen from the door into the garden, having clearly just arrived.

“Hey, birdies!” he greeted with a teasing grin.

“Charlie!” Ginny instantly perked up and tackled her brother in something that was most likely supposed to be a hug, her wings beating happily behind her and kicking up quite the wind in the small space.

“Ginny!” Hermione complained loudly, quickly raising her hands to her head to keep her hair from whipping her in the face. “We're indoors!”

Ron and Harry, neither of whom had Hermione's problem -what with both of them keeping their hair short just for such a reason- watched on with amused smiles.

“Busy,” Ginny grinned, not letting go of Charlie, but let up on the flapping, though her wings were still spread in happiness. “Guess what; I got accepted to the Holyhead Harpies!” she announced gleefully, having sat on the news for about a week; having wanted to tell Charlie in person.

“Wow, congrats.” Charlie blinked, and then ruffled her hair affectionately. “That's amazing, Ginny.”

Ginny mock-scowled at him and immediately let go of him to sort her hair out, pulling the elastic out of it to redo the pony-tail. She still managed to look pretty pleased with herself.

“And what about you three? Any life-altering news you want to share?” he asked lightly, clearly not expecting anything in particular, trusting his mother to keep him up to date on the world-shattering news front.

“I want to go on a Migration,” Harry said casually, as if it wasn't anything to lose your head over.

“Huh.” Charlie stilled, looking her over with careful, thoughtful eyes. “Makes sense, I suppose,” he finally said with a shrug, making Harry all but beam at him.

This was why she loved the Weasleys.

“Have you even gotten the correct passport and such yet?” Hermione asked, eyes slightly narrowed. As if she thought Harry would be willing to risk it by doing things in a slightly less than legal manner.

“Yes,” Harry replied, frowning a bit at her friend. “I have. What's the use of being able to fly faster than some commercial brooms if I never get the change to stretch my wings, Hermione?” she asked rhetorically, even though she knew that Hermione couldn't _really_ understand, despite the fact she'd basically grown up with her, Ron and Ginny. All of whom were winged.

“You can go that fast?” Charlie interrupted before Hermione could do more than open her mouth.

Harry nodded. “It's awesome,” she said with a wide, satisfied grin.

“And here I thought you were supposed to be a vulture,” Ginny piped up, blinking innocently at Harry and looking like butter couldn't melt in her mouth.

Harry's grin instantly slid off her face to be replaced with a scowl. “I can't believe you read that rubbish,” she groused, making Ginny snicker.

“Mostly to laugh at them,” her friend said placatingly a moment later, referring to the latest edition of Witch Weekly, where they'd printed an entire article dedicated to nothing more than to speculate about Harry's wings.

The conclusion had been that she _had_ to have vulture wings. Of course.

It made Harry want to scoff.

As if the thought hadn't crossed her mind before, but the 'reporter' had obviously failed to take her juvenile plumage into consideration. They weren't vulture wings; she'd already checked, thank you.

Not to mention the fact that Harry didn't go around flaring her wings in public every other day like some people did; she'd be knocking people and things over right left and centre if she did, not to mention smacking them into hard, unforgiving things. Like buildings. Ouch.

“Anyway, you should probably take your bag upstairs; things are going to be cramped enough without it,” Ron suggested, motioning towards the duffel bag Charlie had dropped to the floor by the door the moment he'd stepped inside.

“Good thinking; don't want mum to blow a fuse,” Charlie muttered and hurried to do just that.

“Come on, help me finish setting the table before everyone else gets here,” Harry finally said, pulling Ron and Hermione with her to collect cutlery and glasses, while Ginny began transferring what food was already done to the table as well.

.

The Burrow kitchen seemed to be full to the brim; the whole Weasley family was present, there was Harry and Hermione, Andromeda and Teddy, as well as Luna and Neville, both of whom had been invited last minute.

Harry had found herself seated in between her two friends, on the opposite side of the table from Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

“Sorry,” she apologized on a sigh for what felt like the fifth time since they had all sat down to eat.

“Don't worry about it,” Neville replied, an amused grin playing around the corners of his mouth. “I've knocked into you, too,” he said, shifting his wings a fraction with a pointed look.

Luna gave an amused hum. “It must be hard to have such expansive wings,” she mused.

Harry snorted and turned to look at the girl. “Well. There are upsides, as well as downsides,” she said wryly.

Luna nodded. “It looks amazingly liberating to be able to fly by your own power,” she said, smiling slightly at Harry and Neville, not a hint of jealousy to her expression.

“It is,” Harry said, and even Neville nodded his agreement.

“It took a while, but I've come to appreciate it,” he laughed a bit awkwardly, wings rising fractionally at the words.

“And they're such a lovely colour,” Luna added dreamily, making Neville's cheeks pink.

“Thank you,” he mumbled embarrassedly.

To be fair, Neville's wings were absolutely gorgeous; a soft grey-blue with deep black tips that looked both regal and strong.

“Hen Harriers are beautiful birds,” Harry said, bumping her shoulder into Neville's upper arm; she wasn't tall enough to reach his shoulder.

Neville smiled at her and turned back to his dessert.

“When are you leaving?” Luna asked, seemingly out of the blue a few minutes later.

Harry's fork froze halfway between her plate and her mouth, and she slowly lowered it again before the piece of treacle tart could slide off the tines.

“How did you-?” she couldn't help but ask, staring at Luna in amazement.

Neville had frozen in his seat, staring at Harry like he was afraid she'd pop out of existence that very moment if he so much as blinked.

“Ginny told me,” Luna admitted after a long seconds' silence. “I think some time away would do you well.”

“I hope so,” Harry sighed, feeling her wings unfold slightly behind her, only to knock into Neville's. _Again_. “Sorry, Neville. I'd just like to stretch my wings for a while, see more of the world, you know?”

“I understand,” Luna said with a sweet smile, patting Harry's arm comfortingly. “You've worked almost constantly this past year; you deserve some time off.”

“Where are you going first?” Neville asked when he finally snapped himself out of his daze, looking over her curiously. “When are you heading out?” he added with a thoughtful air.

“If everything goes as planned? Next week.” Harry grimaced a little, hoping to Merlin no new disaster would pop up, or she might just go on strike. “And I wanted to fly, so France.”

“May the winds be favourable,” Luna beamed, slipping an arm around Harry's waist to give her a one-armed hug, wing stretching out to cover her back and wings while she was at it.

“Thank you.” Harry grinned back, feeling her heart swell with affection when Neville gave her a warm, supportive look as well.

These people were everything to her.

When dessert had been mostly consumed and Molly had begun to pass around cups of tea and or hot cocoa, Harry stood to her feet and cleared her throat, drawing the assorted groups' full attention.

“I'd like to give an announcement,” she began, feeling like she was about to give a formal address. When all that got her was expectant silence and focus, she cleared her throat again. “It's been a year now, and the repairs are mostly done, things have calmed down, the trials are mostly over with and things are returning to normal,” she began. “Hermione, Kingsley, Percy and Arthur are all at the Ministry to make sure nothing disastrous happens and Neville is keeping the Auror Force on track.” She glanced at her friend, who blushed bright red at the praise. “Ron's joining him and, I figured I should go on an extended vacation.” Harry was silent a moment to let her family absorb the news.

“'Ow long will you be gone?” Fleur asked, cradling her and Bill's baby girl closer to her chest, rubbing the infant's back soothingly.

“A while. I don't really know; I haven't set a date,” she confessed, feeling a bit sheepish. “I just feel like I need to get away for a while. Stretch my wings.”

There was a scattering of laughter at that, and she could hear George mutter that everywhere but the open sky was 'cramped' for her.

Harry did the mature thing and stuck her tongue out at him, only for George to blow an affectionate raspberry right back.

Percy flexed his wings in an almost nervous manner, before they settled back into a neat fold on his back. “Will you need any help with the paper-work?” he asked quietly, silently extending an offer to help.

Harry smiled at him. “Kingsley's already helped me get a passport and all the necessary papers for a Migration.”

“You'll keep in contact,” Andromeda said, and it very much wasn't a question.

Harry nodded anyway. “Of course. And I'll trust all of you to keep me up to date on anything important that happens back here, too,” she smiled.

“I'll make sure to send regular pictures,” Bill grinned, adding a playful wink, wrapping one arm around Fleur's shoulders, glancing lovingly down at his daughter. His wings flared with palpable love and pride.

“I'll look forward to it,” Harry said, smirking at the love-sick wizard, though there was nothing but warmth in her gaze. “I'll miss all of you, but-” she shrugged.

They all knew why she'd want to leave for a bit.

“It's to be expected, I suppose,” Molly sighed, hand to her chest and looking rather tearful. “Those awful magazines should know better than to hound your every step.” She shook her head with a disapproving frown. “Just make sure to take proper care of yourself, dear.”

“When are you leaving?” Arthur asked, readily handing his wife a napkin to dab at her eyes with.

“Next week or so; I wasn't sure,” she added at the surprised looks. “It's something I've been thinking about for a while now, but I wasn't sure when I'd be free to go.” She shrugged apologetically.

“We'll make sure not to breathe a word of it to anyone,” George promised for all of them, giving her a tired but sincere smile. “The fact that Kingsley's managed to keep it secret is rather impressive.”

“You know how it is with these former secret government rebels,” Harry said sagely. “They have their ways.”

Ginny was the first to snort, followed by Ron's snickers.

Arthur chuckled good-naturedly and the post dinner talk proceeded in calm, content familiarity.

Harry leaned back in her seat, ending up leaning most of her weight on Neville, who slipped his arms over her shoulders with a smile.

-x-x-x-

It was time.

Harry had said goodbye to her friends, the assembled Weasley Clan, Andy and Teddy, and she'd even Apparated up to Hogsmeade to see Professor- ah, _Headmistress_ McGonagall, now, to tell the woman the news in person.

She'd already prepared a short press statement with Kingsley, which he would send in to the _Daily Prophet_ two days from now on her behalf.

Harry hadn't wanted her old Head of House to learn of her Migration from the paper, though, and Hermione had convinced her to go visit Poppy while she'd been at it, for a last minute check-up.

She had relented with a roll of the eyes and a long-suffering, but affectionate, sigh.

“Make sure to write,” Hermione told her for the third time just that morning. “Or call; I did give you my parent's phone number, right?”

“Yes,” Harry replied dutifully. “You did. I have two copies of it in my bag,” she reminded, patting the bag resting on her front.

It was something of a mix between a backpack for winged people and a messenger bag.

Instead of resting on her back, though, it was resting comfortably against her lower chest and stomach. The straps went around her neck, lose enough to be comfortable and non-restrictive, which connected by a single strap down her back between her wings to the strap that circled her hips, securing the other end of the bag.

To make it extra secure and minimize the risk of losing things mid-flight, the flap was on the inside, and would be held closed by her body. In addition to magic, but still.

The bag itself had been magically expanded to be several times larger on the inside than on the outside, and Hermione and Molly had spelled it against enough things Harry was surprised it couldn't fly on its own by now.

“Just make sure to take care of yourself; don't let anyone try and boss you around, yeah?” Ron said, blinking rapidly a few times and clearing his throat. “Knock people on their arses if they try anything, okay?”

“Will do, Ron.” Harry smiled, feeling a bit emotional as well.

This would be the longest she'd be away from both of her best friends. She didn't know when she'd see them again for sure, but... She'd be on her own.

By _choice_ , this time.

She took a few steps away from her two friends; if she didn't leave now, she doubted she'd ever get around to it.

“Okay,” she said quietly, taking a deep breath.

Stretching her wings took hardly a thought, and she could see them expand on either side of her, a warm brown that framed her in.

“I'll fly with you, just a little bit of they way, okay?” Ron said, raising his voice a little to make sure she heard him. “So don't just take off without me!”

“Okay.” Harry grinned, bent her knees and prepared herself for take-off.

Taking flight from the ground like this was always more difficult than, say, jumping off the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts.

She could manage, though. It just tended to kick up a lot of down-draft, which was why she'd stepped away from her two friends.

Harry shook out her wings a little, taking a few experimental flaps to warm up, and then, with as big a leap as she was physically capable of, she jumped into the air, wings pumping to push the ground away from beneath her.

The wind caught beneath her wings and she could finally stop working them against gravity.

Harry took a deep breath, blinked the secondary, transparent eye-lid _most_ winged people had over her eyes and looked around.

She angled her wings so that she would circle her take-off spot in a wide, sweeping circle as she waited for Ron, watching as he kissed Hermione, walked a few steps away from her and then went for a running start.

Which was easier.

Soon enough, Ron, grey wings spread wide, glided into position next to her, though a bit closer to the ground and with a good metre between the tips of their wings.

Harry sent him an excited beam, which he returned with a joyful one of his own.

She pointed in the direction she was heading off into, to which Ron nodded, and then angled her wings to let the wind carry her there.

Ron, with different wings, had to flap to get the same result.

Ron and others had commented regularly on how strange it was for Harry to be able to fly as she did. She had to flap her wings rarely mid-flight, yet she was fast.

At least it had made it easy to determine that she had wings like some sort of bird of prey, the question was just _which_ kind.

About ten minutes later, Ron swooped closer to her, almost slapping her wing tip with his flight feathers in a playful manner.

He waved at her with one last grin, and then wheeled around back towards the Burrow and Hermione; who was no doubt still waiting on the hill.

Harry craned her neck to watch him disappear into the distance, before she focused back on her own flight.

Flapping her wings a few times, Harry rose higher into the air, and the chilly temperature, despite being early summer, made her glad she had dressed warmly.

Finally at the altitude that felt best, Harry increased her speed and flew steadily closer to the southern border of England, and the English Channel.

If she happened to make a few swoops and dives on the way, that was entirely up to her, wasn't it?

With a wide, thrilled grin, Harry eagerly set off for her journey, content in the knowledge that her friends and family would be waiting for her when she came back.

.

She wasn't sure how many hours had passed since she'd set out, but she'd had good weather since early morning, and flying over the sparkling sea had been an amazing experience.

She'd been able to see land for quite a while now, and her wings, back and chest were starting to get sore; Harry hadn't flown this long in... ever.

She'd been able to take flights at Hogwarts, when the weather had allowed for it, but that had pretty much been it.

The Dursleys certainly hadn't ever encouraged her to spread her wings _anywhere,_ because why would they want her to attract any kind of attention? Unless it had been meticulously arranged by Petunia, of course, and always of the negative sort.

Some kind of positive response? Not high on the list of things they approved of.

It was, admittedly, a very short list.

And Harry had never been on it.

Shaking the gloomy thoughts from her head, Harry scanned the French coast for any cities she could stop for lunch in.

She loved lo fly, no mistake, but it made her _hungry_. Harry felt like she could eat a cow on her own!

Laughing a little to herself, the sound stolen by the wind before it could reach her ears, Harry eagerly adjusted her course when she spotted a town that was neither too small, nor too large, that looked promising for a pit-stop.

Absently flexing her fingers, Harry wondered if she shouldn't see if she could find a store that could sell her some sort of gloves, too. This high up, the air and wind was _cold_.

When she eventually reached solid ground, Harry scanned the area beneath her for any appropriate landing spots.

She could see what she believed was some sort of town square that would probably work nicely... Hopefully, she wouldn't give anyone a heart-attack.

Which meant no top-speed dives, she sighed mournfully.

Well. There would be plenty of time for that later, she amended, instantly cheered.

Making one final turn around the town, Harry slowly began her decent.

Slow for her, that was.

Aiming for the town square she'd spotted, Harry folded her wings and let herself stoop, head first, towards the ground.

It was exhilarating.

After a couple of heartbeats, she snapped her wings out again and drastically slowed her decent, letting herself travel in tight circles for the last remaining distance, until she had to flap frantically to right herself, before dropping the last meter to land crouched on her feet.

“Whew,” Harry huffed with an accomplished grin, running her fingers through her hair in a token attempt to make it look a little less wind-swept. “That was a hoot,” she commented lightly to herself, expertly ignoring all the blatantly staring people.

Glancing around at the place, she took in the numerous restaurants she could see just around the square.

Fantastic!

Harry absently shook out her feathers, and then gratefully folded her wings neatly against her back, one at a time.

With a definite spring in her step, Harry set off towards the closest restaurant that looked appealing.

Curiously browsing the menu set up by the entrance to the veranda like setting outside the restaurant itself, where you could chose to sit by a table under the open sky, Harry took in the list of dishes. All written in French.

Ah.

She probably should have anticipated this, but! That just meant she'd have to ask a waiter or waitress to help her.

Feeling more optimistic than she'd felt in forever, Harry strode into the restaurant and decided to go for a table that was actually indoors. The sun was brilliant, but she'd been out in it all day, and some shade might actually be nice by now.

Harry had barely had time to settle in a chair designed for those with wings -meaning it had a very narrow back-rest, to give plenty of room for the aforementioned wings- before a slightly wide-eyed waiter approached her with a menu clutched tightly in both hands.

He still gave her a polite, professional smile and rattled off what was no doubt a welcome and some sort of question, all in one breath.

“Ah, you don't happen to know any English, do you?” Harry asked sheepishly into the expectant silence, smiling a bit nervously up at the older man.

He blinked, and then smiled a tad more sincerely. “Un peux, ah, very little,” he said with a bit of a grin and a heavy accent. “You eat?”

“Yes, please! Could you tell me what my options are, please?” she asked hopefully, which prompted an interesting session with mixed English, French and rudimentary, made-up sign language, until they both could get themselves understood.

And Harry ended up with a delicious sea-food dish that she definitely enjoyed every bite of.

It was a good thing she'd already exchanged some of her money into francs, or taking care of the bill would have been fairly awkward.

As it was, Harry cheerfully handed over what she owed and then set out to brows the town for a store that sold gloves at this time of year.

After all that flying, getting a chance to stretch her legs was surprisingly nice.

She still ended up absently stretching out her arms as she walked, rubbing at her chest muscles.

People with wings, or Avians, as some people called them, had a slightly different musculature than regular people. To support the wings they'd been born with, and in some, flight.

You couldn't see it by looking at her, but Harry's chest, back and even legs, were quite a bit denser than say, Hermione's was. And all of it was tightly chorded muscle.

There was much more to it that that, of course, what with a slightly altered skeletal structure and anatomy in general, but Harry didn't know that much about it.

Much to Hermione's ever-lasting frustration.

But it wasn't like she and Ron could fly _less_ just because they didn't know all the particulars about their own bodies; they'd leave that up to the professionals. Like Healers and such.

The point remained; Harry would be sore all over tomorrow, she just knew it.

Finding a pair of sturdy, sufficiently insulated 'flying gloves' had taken her a while, but she _had_ found a pair that fit her perfectly.

They'd cost a pretty penny, but it wasn't like Harry's funds would run dry any time soon, so! She'd bought them, put them on, and quickly launched herself back into the air.

Harry didn't have anywhere she had to be, precisely, but that didn't change the fact that she would feel better once she'd put a bit more distance between herself and her many, rabid, fanatical fans back in Britain...

So for the next two days, before the press release, Harry planned to get a whole lot of flying done.

She could enjoy the scenery and her journey more properly _after_ that.

-x-x-x-


	2. Chapter 2

The evening two days later, Harry touched down with slightly less grace than she usually would have exhibited and found herself the closest hotel that looked decent.

She got herself a room, ordered up a large meal, and then disappeared into her room.

Harry wolfed down her food, took a quick shower, used the toilet and brushed her teeth, and then collapsed on the bed.

It was a good thing her wings were large enough they covered basically all of her and could help conserve her body heat, because Harry was asleep before she could so much as crawl under the blanket.

She slept through the night, and almost through all of the next day.

Jerking awake at the sharp ring from the phone next to the bed she was lying on, Harry groggily looked around.

It took her a moment to remember where she was. Or why she had woken up.

“Yeah?” she asked, blinking blearily as she tried to concentrate enough to take in what the lady on the other end of the phone line was saying. “Yes, please,” she answered, marvelling at her own foresight.

Apparently, when she'd arrived last night, Harry had asked that if they didn't hear any different, they should send up dinner to her at this time.

Which the lady working in the reception had wanted to double-check. Hence the call.

Rubbing a hand over her face, Harry grimaced at how... fuzzy her head felt. Like it had magically been stuffed with cotton while she'd slept.

Urgh.

That was an awful metaphor.

Dragging herself from the bed, she actually had to take a moment to catch her breath at the _awe-inspiring_ burning pain that shot through what felt like her entire body.

Great, Harry thought sullenly, dragging herself into the bathroom to use the loo.

Maybe it'd get marginally better if she took another shower? A very hot one?

At least she'd been given an Avian-adjusted room.

Harry still groaned when she levered herself into the roomy shower, realising just now that she apparently hadn't bothered to get dressed after her shower the previous evening.

At least that meant she didn't have to undress right now, which could only be a blessing.

Merlin, her body _hurt_! Like a _bitch_.

The warm water did help – a little – and the food afterwards helped further.

All in all, Harry felt significantly more human by the time she returned to bed, easily falling back asleep for some more well-needed rest.

.

Her body having received the rest it had craved, Harry woke up bright and early the next morning.

Feeling like crap, but at least she was up and about, even though she was moving like a 90 year old lady with arthritis.

“No more flying for me in a while,” Harry muttered to herself as she went through her morning routine, all the while trying to work up the mental strength to acknowledge the fact that her wings _really_ needed a good preening.

Breakfast first, though.

Ringing up a large breakfast, ordering both waffles and fresh croissants with jam and tea, Harry figured there was just one thing to do while she waited.

With a grim, determined expression on her face, Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully began to stretch out her stiff, screaming muscles.

When she hobbled to the door to accept her food, there were bloody _tears_ in her eyes from the constant, burning pain.

Yeah, Harry would be careful not to overdo it from here on out if this was the result she could look forward to.

With a small sigh, Harry accepted her fate and set out to prepare for the day.

.

About an hour and a half later, Harry left her room to explore a bit.

Stiff muscles never got better from being still, so she might just as well get out and about.

First order of business; find out where in Merlin's name she was.

Which was easy enough. Harry just made her way down to the front desk and asked, pleased that her question only earned her an amused smile instead of any kind of mocking.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry set out from her hotel with a small, pocket-sized map of the area and directions to the near-by shopping district.

Harry had managed to find a small town she couldn't for the life of her pronounce the name of; Chazay-d'Azergues.

If the map was to be believed, she was slightly north-west of Lyon, which meant she'd covered quite the distance since she'd left England.

Stuffing the map in her back pocket, Harry focused on enjoying her walk, taking in the abundance of really old-looking buildings.

They had nothing on Hogwarts, but they were still interesting and pretty to look at.

Some of them seemed to have great perches for an elevated view, but Harry cringed at the thought of attempting to get into the air right now, so she wisely refrained.

She'd let her wings rest for a few days, thank you.

Harry ended up staying in the small town for two more days, enjoying the sights and the food, before she set out again, continuing south and towards the Mediterranean sea.

Ending up close to Cannes, Harry took another few days to just enjoy the warm weather, lazing around on the beach to soak up some sun. Though she didn't bathe; the salt was quite a pain to wash out of her feathers, she'd learned her sixth year, when she'd gone for that nice little swim with professor Dumbledore.

There was always ice cream, if she felt too hot, and frankly, with the amount of exercise she was getting, she could do with the extra calories.

In between flying around to get an areal view of the land, exploring, sightseeing and just enjoying herself, Harry made sure to write regular letters to Ron and Hermione, updating them on how she was doing.

They'd have to be happy to get one about once a week.

Harry had sent them via Muggle post, too, because she hadn't felt inspired to try and seek out a Magical district for an owl post service.

Being this close to the sea made her feel slightly misplaced, though, because most of the wings of the people around her belonged to different kinds of seabirds. Or at least something close.

Not everyone, of course. It just felt like she saw seagull wings a lot, all of a sudden.

On her way past a rather touristy store, Harry didn't realise she'd stopped walking until someone walked into her, bumping into her left wing and shoulder with a muttered apology.

She frowned after the man, but turned her attention back to what had caught her eye.

It looked to be some sort of guidebook, but most notable was the fact that it seemed to be in English. That, and the absolutely breathtaking picture on the front.

And that was how Harry ended up flying in a north-east direction from there, heading towards the Alps.

The book she'd stumbled across turned out to be a travel-guide for Avians, focusing mostly on central Europe.

And the Alps looked like a place she just _had_ to check out. Like the lands around Hogwarts but _better!_

Breathtaking mountains, deep, beautiful valleys and astounding nature? Harry wanted to fly there.

She was even more intrigued to read about a hotel that supposedly had been built and designed to cater to Avian people, located high up in the mountains.

Harry didn't have the first clue how something like that had been built without magic, but she wanted to check it out.

She took her time, but Harry saw the landscape beneath her slowly become more hilly, the mountains reaching up towards the sky in the distance ahead like a gathering of silent guardians.

Insides all but squirming with excitement, Harry increased her speed, flapping her wings to catch a favourable wind.

She'd have to stop for lunch soon, but that didn't mean she couldn't cover more ground until then.

.

Flying amongst mountains that made Scotland look like a glorified anthill was... exhilarating.

It made her blood sing.

There was just so much to look at, Harry took her time, not minding at all when she couldn't find a human settlement before dark and ended up having to camp out in the mountains.

She had magic, and Hermione had somehow gotten her a wizarding tent to take along.

Harry wasn't complaining.

Strapping her bag back onto her frame, Harry swept her gaze over the place she'd camped during the night one last time, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything, and then launched herself off of the cliff she'd been staying on.

The ground nearly instantly dropped away from beneath her, opening up into a vast, lush valley, overflowing with greenery.

Grinning excitedly to herself, Harry considered the map she'd been studying in the evenings lately, and turned her wings in the right direction to get to Avian Lodge, located in the Swiss parts of the Alps.

She might have crossed the border already, but it wasn't like they put up signs in the middle of the wilderness, so she couldn't be sure.

It took her three days to find the Lodge.

Harry made a large, sweeping turn into the valley opening up before her, gaze sliding over the landscape far beneath.

A glint of reflected sunlight made her turn her attention to what looked to be a near-enough sheer cliff-face off on her far left.

Harry angled her wings, letting the winds push her closer in an unhurried fashion.

Movement in the corner of her eye, heading in the same direction and larger than any local birds she'd seen so far, Harry was thrilled to see a pair of Avians winging their way towards the same destination.

Which meant this must be it!

Harry observed the couple, taking in their grey-brown wings. The shape of them.

If she was forced to guess, Harry would say dove. It just felt accurate compared to what she was seeing.

When she got closer to the building hugging the side of the mountain, she could see even more Avian people flying around, doing their version of sightseeing, no doubt. Or hiking?

With a small, happy smile, Harry tucked in her wings and eagerly dropped towards the landing platform on the side of the building.

Coming in at an angle, Harry swooped in and didn't snap out her wings until the last moment, abruptly halting her decent and bringing her almost to a full stop, only for her to fold her wings and drop the last, short distance to the wooden deck.

Forced to take a few jogging steps to bring her speed fully down to a stop, Harry eagerly looked around at her new surroundings, ignoring the long stares she could feel on her skin.

The large, airy building truly did hug the mountain-side. She'd seen the massive poles connecting to the rock underneath it from afar, but it truly must be a feat of Muggle engineering, this place.

How had they gotten all the materials up the mountain?

“Willkommen in der 'Avian Lodge', wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?” a deep, friendly voice greeted her a moment later, drawing Harry's attention away from the peak of the mountain high above them, which seemed enormous from this perspective.

“Oh, um. Do you speak English?” Harry inquired politely, guessing it to have been a greeting of some sort.

The man blinked, wings twitching a little in surprise, but his smile didn't falter for a second.

“English is good, yes. Welcome to ze Avian Lodge, how can I help you?” the man said, no doubt repeated himself, speaking with a rather thick, but perfectly understandable, accent.

“I'd like a room?” Harry smiled, feeling a little bashful almost, suddenly wondering if you had to call ahead and make a reservation. What if they didn't have any rooms?

Not that Harry would be devastated or anything, but she'd feel pretty awkward.

“Of course.” The man smiled, an amused twinkle in his eyes as he motioned for Harry to follow him inside, turning around to lead the way.

Harry curiously looked over his wings. She'd never seen any quite like them before; a warm, light brown with alternating white and black stripes or bands towards the tips.

They looked pretty neat.

Getting a room turned out to be no trouble at all; it was a large hotel and the man, Detlef, told her they were very rarely fully booked.

“Is very special clientele to come here, yes?” he asked with an amused grin, the expression deepening the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

Harry couldn't help but smile back.

“I suppose,” she agreed, still busy looking around at everything.

There were a lot of large windows everywhere, for an optimum look at the view, even while indoors.

“Will need your passport, Miss,” Detlef said, once they'd reached what Harry recognized as the front desk. Or the equivalent, at least. “And small depository,” he added with a slightly wry tint to his smile.

“Have a lot of customers who try to bail out of paying?” she couldn't help but ask, reaching into her bag to dig out her passport and some money.

“It happens.” Detlef shrugged, as if there wasn't really anything to do about it other than to take appropriate precautions.

Harry's fingers finally closed around the glossy passport Kingsley had helped her get and easily enough handed it over.

Detlef opened it to look it over, eyebrows rising a fraction before his gaze flicked up to glance briefly at Harry, before he continued with no hesitation.

The man, who happened to be the owner, told her about the rules, what times the restaurant kept, asked her to respect the other guests' privacy and then led her to her room.

“Raptors tend to like higher rooms,” Detlef told her as he led her to the stairs, to climb up to the upper floors. “We want everyone to be comfortable!”

Harry tilted her head. “Raptors?” she couldn't help but ask.

“Ah, yes. Another way to call bird of prey,” Detlef explained easily, seemingly not at all bothered by Harry's ignorance. “Like eagle, hawk and falcon.”

Harry hummed. Weren't raptors some sort of dinosaur?

She was pretty sure, but then again, she only had Dudley's dinosaur-phase back when they'd been in primary to go by.

Detlef opened the door to her room, letting it swing wide open and stepping back to let her enter first.

Curiously, Harry walked into the room and- paused.

One whole wall was nothing but a big window, giving her an astounding view of the valley stretching out beneath them, letting in the sunlight.

The colour palette was mostly white, with dark greys, browns and blues.

“It's beautiful,” Harry murmured, turning back to Detlef with a wide smile.

“Not big enough to stretch wings, for you, but lots of outdoor flying, yes,” Detlef chuckled, and Harry thought he looked like the stereotypical jovial uncle right then.

“It's more room than I'm used to,” Harry assured him lightly. “It's perfect.”

“ _Danke,_ very kind of you to say.” Detlef smiled, and then left her to get situated in her room and rest, if she so wished it.

She closed and locked the door behind him and then unclasped the bag from around her hips.

As wonderful as this room was, Harry would be getting better acquainted with the bathroom before anything else; she really needed a shower.

.

Not only had the bathroom been designed with people like Harry in mind, the _bed_ was heaven on earth.

Harry could honestly say that she had never slept so well before in her _life_.

First of all, the bed was round. It was amazing. Second, it was _enormous_. Which was fantastic, because that meant she could lie in it and actually stretch out her wings, even if it was only a little.

Oh, and she could lie in bed and stare out the windows, which made it feel like she had a nest on the edge of a cliff.

Harry loved it, and if she ever got around to buying a house, she was definitely getting herself a bed just like this one.

After sleeping through the night, Harry got up the following morning feeling well-rested and ready for a day of exploring the region, flying for fun and maybe talk a bit more with Detlef about the area and what sort of guests he normally got.

Dressing warmly, Harry set out from her room with a clear bounce in her step.

“Guten morgen,” a woman who looked to be one of Detlef's staff greeted her when she stepped into the hotel restaurant.

“Morning,” Harry returned, able to guess well enough what had been said. “I'd like some breakfast?”

The woman smiled at her and pointed in the direction of the other end of the room, where it looked like a buffet had been prepared.

“Thank you!” Harry smiled and walked over, wings flexing a little with excitement when she glanced out the window to see it was just as beautiful a day as it had been yesterday.

Not that rain would have stopped her.

“How did you sleep, miss Potter?” Detlef asked a few minutes later, pausing by her table on his way through the restaurant.

“Like a rock.” She grinned, feeling almost giddy at the thought.

For once, there hadn't been a single nightmare to jerk her awake or to darken her dreams.

“Good for you,” Detlef said, looking genuinely pleased. If it was on her behalf or from the indirect praise, she wasn't sure, but it wasn't like it made much of a difference. “Perfect weather today,” he added, waving a hand at the windows and then continued on his way.

Harry finished her meal, pulled on her sturdy jacket and then hurried outside, wings partially unfolded with impatient excitement.

The front door, or the closest equivalence, opened up to the deck going along the whole front of the building, which in turn connected to the landing deck.

There were sunning chairs placed evenly along the whole thing, and several of them were occupied.

Harry didn't have sunning on her mind, though.

Instead, she jumped up onto the railing surrounding the whole thing, balancing precariously on the edge of a drop of who knew how many hundred metres.

Spinning on the spot so that she could look up at the lodge, taking in the front of the building, which was almost entirely made up of wide glass planes, she sent the people staring at her a wide grin and let herself fall backwards off the railing.

She snapped her wings open a second later, a loud whoop tearing itself from her throat as she soared upwards with the strong wind, which brought her high up above the lodge in seconds.

The people on the veranda looked like nothing more than colourful little splotches in no time at all.

Not that Harry paid them much attention.

When she was high enough it was hard to breathe, she folded her wings for a stoop that damn near tore the air from her lungs. Though most of that might have been the laughter bubbling from her mouth.

She felt _free!_

Completely unfettered by anything; there wasn't a prophecy hanging over her head. Her friends were all as safe as they would ever be. There were no more responsibilities she had to fulfil.

With a laugh that no doubt sounded more than a little manic, Harry stretched out her wings in a smooth swoop to level out.

She followed it by tilting her wings so she could circle the cliff with the lodge, still far above it.

Contemplating what to do next, Harry felt the wind tug at her hair, play with her feathers in what felt like a gentle caress.

She closed her eyes a moment, just enjoying the feel of being suspended in the open air, nothing but the wind under her wings keeping her from death on the rocks far below.

With a smile, she curled one wing in against her side and fell into a roll, which transitioned into another dive.

She didn't return to solid ground until the sun was high in the sky and her stomach was complaining loudly about its lack of food.

With one last loop, Harry moved into a steep, wide turn that would bring her in perfectly to land on the platform.

The wide grin she'd been wearing almost constantly since she'd first taken to the air this morning was still stretching her lips and she felt strangely accomplished for a person who had essentially done nothing all day.

“You are quite the, ah, what is word, acrobat, miss Potter,” Detlef said, waiting for her on the landing deck, hands in his pockets and looking quietly impressed.

Harry blinked at him. “Thank you. Most people just call me reckless.” She grinned, thinking of Hermione or Molly's reactions if they'd been witness to what she'd just spent her day doing.

Instead of commenting, Detlef merely accompanied her inside, escorting her to the restaurant before he went on his way.

Harry peered after him a bit bemusedly, but shook out her wings and set out to find herself a seat.

.

Harry loved the Alps.

She'd been here a week, and there was still so much to see! The conditions for flying were _excellent_ , and she really wanted to bring Ron, Ginny and Neville here! Luna and Hermione, too, of course, but it would be hard to get them up here without breaking the Statute of Secrecy.

She'd honestly spent more time in the air than at the hotel, but Detlef didn't seem to mind, taking it as a compliment rather than an insult.

He'd chosen a remarkable place to build his hotel.

Eyeing the steadily darkening clouds, Harry figured it was time to turn back to the Avian Lodge. She'd read enough warnings about the weather in this region that she knew to be careful.

It'd been nice and clear this morning, but the wind had steadily picked up and the clouds had come in quickly, just in the last hour.

Harry hummed to herself, even though she couldn't hear it.

Banking hard to the right, she turned in the direction of the hotel. Just for thunder to roll through the sky, close enough it felt like it rattled her ribcage.

Yeah, she should probably hurry.

Harry beat her wings a couple of times and gave an internal sigh when the first raindrop hit the back of her head.

Of course.

Rolling her eyes a bit, Harry flew on through the downpour, carefully navigating the roaring winds and feeling almost wistful.

This weather made her think of that Quidditch game in third year.... thank Merlin there weren't any Dementors around here.

With a small, tight smile, Harry compensated her position when a particularly strong gust tore at her wings, as if it wanted to throw her off course and fling her to the ground.

It was a good thing she'd been flying so much in the last week, exploring the area around the Lodge, or she never would have found it; the visibility sucked.

For once, Harry approached the landing deck with meticulous care. She didn't want to be slammed down on it by a particularly strong squall, thank you.

Landing in a low crouch, Harry quickly tucked her wings flat against her back, to avoid the wind grabbing them and making her airborne again whether she wanted to or not, and then slowly and carefully made her way to the front doors.

Pulling it open was a bit of work, but she managed.

The moment the door slammed shut behind her, it cut off the worst of the sound of the wind, and Harry stared out one of the many windows. Currently being pelted by the rain and the wind.

“Whew,” she huffed, shaking her wet hair out of her eyes. “That was an experience.”

“Harry!” And that was Detlef.

Harry turned to him with a smile, only to pause at the look on his face. “You okay?” she asked, suddenly worried. He hadn't hurt himself, had he?

She carefully studied his pale features, his wide eyes and the slight tremble to his hands.

“I just called- and we thought- Are you alright!?” he asked, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking her over almost frantically.

“Well, yeah. The landing was a bit of a challenge, but I'm fine.” Harry blinked, trying to connect the dots in her head.

So Detlef wasn't hurt?

Detlef let out a deep, heavy sigh, his wings drooping to brush the floor with relief. “Du hast mir vielleicht einen Schrecken eingejagt!” he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight embrace, despite the fact that Harry was dripping water onto the floor.

Wings puffing up a bit, Harry awkwardly patted the man's arm in what she hoped was a comforting manner.

“Um, everything's okay?” she offered tentatively, gaze sliding over the small crowd gathered in the hallway, looking for Detlef's wife, Ilse. Maybe the woman should make Detlef sit down for a while?

Ilse didn't speak any English, but Harry had grown somewhat fond of her anyway, in the last week. She felt like an older, grey-haired Mrs Weasley.

“Oh, Herzchen! Du bist nass!” the woman in question exclaimed, striding towards Harry and Detlef with an armful of towels, her white-backed woodpecker wings twice their normal size in obvious distress.

Which was what finally made Harry realise what this whole thing was actually about.

Feeling her cheeks slowly going pink with embarrassment, Harry cleared her throat. “I'm sorry you worried about me; the storm took me quite by surprise, but I'm perfectly alright,” she said, giving Detlef and Ilsa an apologetic smile, even as she accepted a towel to dry her hair. “It's wasn't any trouble; I've flown in worse weather before.” Admittedly on a broom, but still.

Her heart skipped a beat when Ilsa used one of the other towels to start drying her left wing for her, frowning down at the soaked feathers with concern and relief warring with each other in her eyes.

Usually, that was something reserved for close family members.

“Ich habe nie- so leichtsinnig !” Ilsa muttered harshly under her breath, though her hands were indescribably careful and gentle.

Harry couldn't do much more than smile a bit helplessly at the woman, unsure what to do with herself.

It wasn't until Detlef pressed a fresh towel into her hands that she realised she'd dropped the first one to the floor. Without noticing.

“Thank you,” she mumbled and resumed the task of drying her hair.

With another sigh, the last of the tension finally bleeding out of Detlef's shoulder, the man patted her shoulder and turned in the direction of the office.

“I need make call,” he muttered, accent even heavier than usual.

-x-x-x-

Harry had stayed at the Avian Lodge for another two days after the storm had passed, leaving the mountains looking as pristine as ever, before she left to continue her journey.

She'd promised to come back, though, much to Detlef and Ilsa's joy.

“You ever need job, come here, yes?” Detlef had told her, partly jokingly but mostly serious, and Harry had told him that she'd be sure to keep it in mind for the future.

If she ever got tired of Britain, she could spend a few months in the Swiss Alps, working for Detlef in the Avian Lodge, no problem.

Continuing along the mountain range, Harry wasn't sure how many national borders she might have crossed, what with the many different countries laying claim to the beautiful region, but it wasn't until she flew clear of the mountains entirely that she realised how far she'd gotten.

It'd taken a minor expedition to find out where she'd been and find a bank to exchange some of her money into a currency she could actually use, if only so that she could buy a map.

Huh, Harry had never considered going to Slovenia before, but it seemed like an interesting place so far.

Harry continued in a generally eastward direction, making plenty of stops and detours, going wherever she felt like.

“ _Granger resident_ ,” a familiar voice said on the other end of the line. “ _To whom am I speaking?_ ”

“Hello, Emma,” Harry greeted with a smile.

Only to have to yank the phone away from her ear at the excited squeal her words resulted in.

“ _Harry! Oh, it's so exciting to hear from you again! Just you wait a moment and I'll go call Hermione and Ron with the floo, okay?_ ” And before Harry managed to make a sound, she could hear the phone be put down and Emma hurrying off.

To the fireplace, no doubt.

Harry leaned against the wall of the phone box she'd tracked down, waiting patiently.

It was, admittedly, a rather tight fit; the booth had clearly not been designed with someone with wings as big as Harry had in mind.

“ _Hello? Harry?_ ” Hermione's voice said breathlessly a couple minutes later.

“Hey, Hermione.” Harry smiled. “How are you?”

“ _Oh, I'm just fine; Percy and I are going through the Archives and you wouldn't_ believe _some of the things we've found in there!_ ” Hermione took a deep breath and caught herself. “ _But let's not talk about that; how are_ you?” she asked, having no doubt been nudged by her mother.

“I'm fine,” Harry snickered a little. “I'm afraid you guys won't recognize me when I get back; I've gotten quite the tan.”

“ _I'm almost jealous,_ ” Hermione returned, and the smile was audible in her voice. “ _Where are you? You mentioned you planned to keep going east in your last letter._ ”

“Bulgaria,” Harry said. “I've made it all the way to the Black Sea; it's quite fascinating here. You would have liked it.”

Hermione sighed. “ _It sounds wonderful; the weather's been dreadful here the last few weeks._ ”

“How is everyone?” she asked next.

“ _Ron's awfully busy, but he likes the Auror program so far. Neville's keeping him company whenever the two of them have time. Andy's over at the Burrow a lot with Teddy,_ ” Hermione rambled enthusiastically. “ _George's shop is doing better than ever and Luna's going travelling, too. She's looking for some kind of creature_.”

“Sounds nice,” Harry murmured, putting a few more coins into the payphone. “And what about, you know.” She grimaced. She'd rather not vocalise the question about how much the papers were writing about her, people were talking about her and what not.

Thankfully, Hermione understood what she meant.

“ _Oh, well,_ ” she paused, which said more than any words possibly could. “ _People are dreadfully curious,_ ” and she sounded perfectly disapproving about it, too. “ _There was a news article last week; someone spotted you in Croatia.”_

“Yeah, well,” Harry muttered, frowning down at the floor. “That's just my life, I guess.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“ _You've been gone three and a half months, soon. Do you know when you'll be back?_ ” Hermione asked quietly. “ _We miss you._ ”

“I don't know. I miss you, too, but, I love this, Hermione.” Harry bit her lower lip, feeling a bit guilty. “Going wherever I want, flying as much as I want, it- it's freedom.”

“ _And I don't begrudge you this for a moment,_ ” Hermione said earnestly, “ _It would just be nice to have you around every now and then, you know?_ ”

“I know,” Harry replied, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the glass. “Oh, guess what?” she said, out of the blue.

“ _What?_ ”

“I'm a golden eagle,” Harry revealed.

Hermione was silent for a long second, before she let out a whooshing breath. “ _A golden eagle_ ,” she repeated quietly. “ _It makes perfect sense; why didn't we think of that?_ ”

“Maybe because it's so rare? Especially in Britain?” Harry asked with a heavy dose of wry amusement. “Yeah, and I'm also going to kick Kingsley's arse when I get back,” she added idly.

“ _Why?_ ” Hermione asked, sounding far more amused than anything else. The difference from when she'd been eleven was drastic; Ron and Harry had done right by her, yes they had.

“The utter prat knew what species of bird I took after ever since he got me my passport and didn't tell me,” Harry grumbled, rubbing a hand over her face in exasperated embarrassment.

“ _...You didn't look through your passport before you left, of course not. Why am I even surprised?_ ” Hermione asked on a sigh, and there was plenty of fond exasperation in her voice.

“Hey! Why would I need to look through it? I trust Kingsley, and as long as I made sure I had it with me!” Harry protested with mock-indignation. “Just pass on the message, will you? He can expect my revenge, okay?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Hermione snorted inelegantly. “ _You know, George's started taking bets on how far you'll end up flying._ ”

“Really?” Harry blinked.

“ _Oh, yeah. He's put up a world-map on the wall in the Burrow sitting room, and is marking out your progress every time we get another letter or call,_ ” her friend informed her amusedly.

Harry was just happy to hear George seemed to be doing better.

“What are the bets so far?” she couldn't help but ask.

“ _Luna put two galleons on you ending up in Japan,_ ” Hermione snickered quietly.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. “I think I'd have to cheat a little to cross such a long distance over the ocean.”

“ _Which was what I told her, but she was adamant,_ ” the other witch said fondly. “ _Harry, I'd love to chat longer; you know I would. But I have to get back to work._ ”

“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed playfully. “Did you ditch work to talk to me, young lady?”

“ _Guilty as charged, your honour,”_ Hermione replied ruefully. “ _Everyone sends you their love, and I'll update George on your progress,_ ” she promised.

“See that you do!” Harry grinned. “Love you lots, and give Teddy a kiss from me, yeah?”

“ _Of course_ ,” Hermione said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Bye,” Harry said, and hung up, hearing the coins rattle through the old machine as they were dropped into whatever storage box there was inside the thing.

With a deep sigh, Harry pried herself out of the phone box and continued on her way back to the hotel; more than ready for some food, a shower, and then bed. She was getting up with the sun tomorrow to fly on to the next destination, and she wanted to be well-rested.

Harry was curious to see where she'd end up this time.

-x-x-x-


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble finds her

She ended up in India.

Somehow.

Well, Harry knew _how_ , really. It was just a matter of it not quite computing in her head.

Because India? Was a really very long way away from Britain.

She'd ended up flying a slightly circumspect way there from Hungary, too. Through Turkey, through Kazakstan and down, to finally arrive in good old India.

And that hadn't even been the biggest surprise.

At least India hadn't been the worst place to be to realise that Harry was still a Parselmouth. Which had been something of a _shock_ , frankly.

Because that had been supposed to be the Horcrux, hadn't it?

The next time she'd spoken with Hermione, she'd brought it up, and after some extensive brain-storming, her friend had tentatively theorized that perhaps the ability had... _rubbed off_ on her, in a way?

Magic could be weird like that.

Deciding it was better than nothing, Harry had accepted it for truth, and had silently wondered if that meant Ginny could still communicate with snakes, as well.

She very firmly refused to ask the girl, though; that was something Ginny would have to bring up on her own.

Not that Ginny was likely to seek out any kind of snakes in the near future...

On another, but connected note, Harry had quickly gotten very tired of being introduced to people's single sons.

No, she very much didn't want to marry and settle down with a complete stranger. Least of all in India, of all places. Yes, she was very sure, thank you.

Because _oh, boy_ , did people treat Parseltongue differently here compared to in Britain!

So that part had been nice. Ish.

Mostly.

Another way India differed from the other places she'd visited so far was the rich, diverse magical communities sprinkled all over the place.

It had been fascinating to explore, and Harry had flitted over what felt like all of India before she decided to move on.

Which brought her to her current situation.

She'd flown north from Varanasi, through Nepal – another utterly _fascinating_ and beautiful place – to enter China from there.

Only to come across a strict border patrol.

You would think the Himalayas would be sufficient protection on their own, but apparently not?

Harry didn't know, but she went along with the military-looking people's directives as well as she could.

Now, she was sitting by a table in some sort of interview room in the official-looking building she had been escorted to after she'd come across the airborne border patrol.

She'd handed her passport over to the winged man in front of her, and was patiently waiting for him to be done with looking through it.

Absently wondering if he needed glasses, Harry watched the man squint down at the printed information, only to glance up at her every now and then.

Harry resisted the urge to sigh.

The man finally lowered her passport, but didn't hand it back, or so much as put it down.

He said something in rapid Chinese, giving her an expectant, mildly sceptical look.

Harry blinked and tilted her head, probably looking just as clueless as she felt.

The man sighed and stood up, unfolding his wings and stretching them out, folded them up and repeated the motion two more times before giving her a pointed look, motioning at her to do the same.

“Oh.” Harry blinked, slowly rising to her feet. “Um, I don't think this room is big enough, really,” she said slowly, sending the man an unsure look.

But seeing as he seemed to know about as much English as Harry knew Chinese... well. She could work with what she had.

Harry slowly unfolded her wings, stretching them as wide as the walls of the room allowed. Which meant that her wings weren't fully spread, but close enough you could get a good look at them, at least.

With a muttered few words under his breath, the man looked down at her passport one last time, and then hand-stamped it and handed it back, ushering her to come with him.

Harry quickly folded her wings, grabbed her passport, stuffed it back into her bag and followed, eager to get out of here and resume her travels.

She was taken to another part of the office, where – after some awkward charades – she was made to show the other papers Kingsley had procured for her, which were also stamped, copied, and then she was allowed to leave. With what sounded like strict orders to _behave_.

Harry knew that tone, even when she couldn't understand a word of the language.

With a respectful nod and a smile to the man who had been forced to deal with her for the last two hours, Harry launched herself back into the air and winged her way into the vast country of China.

.

She followed the Himalayas east, spending her days blissfully flying over nature that was more breathtaking than even the Alps had been. Everything was just... _wild_ here, where there had been a touch of human influence almost everywhere in the Alps.

And Harry couldn't deny that she _loved_ flying high amongst the mountains.

It felt like she belonged.

This part of the country seemed pretty barren, as far as people went, but Harry wasn't overly bothered; she'd stocked up on plenty of supplies before leaving India, and she had magic, too.

Without magic, Harry doubted it would have been even half as pleasant a crossing of the mountain range behind her.

The cold would have been bordering on unbearable instead of being just persistent and numbing.

When she finally did encounter people, Harry managed alright, even with the pretty hefty language barrier.

She'd gotten rather good at conveying her point non-verbally by now, if she dared say it herself.

Then she entered the Sichuan province and suddenly, there were people everywhere.

The nature around her was still just as beautiful, if in a difference manner, but...

Harry felt a bit like she was going into shock. Not only was the climate _completely_ different from the region around the mountains, where it had been cold and dry. Here, it was warm, _humid_ , and there were people all around her, all the time.

And not just on the ground.

It was something she'd noticed ever since she'd left Europe behind; people flew more.

Avian people used their wings more, and it might have been because the infrastructure was less developed, or it might just be cultural.

It was pretty nice, though, to see other people up in the air with her.

For the first time in quite a while, Harry had left the wilderness and smaller villages behind for an impressive beast of a city.

Chengdu was massive, with millions of people, all crammed into one area.

Harry carefully made her way down a busy street, trying not to smack people with her wings and still keep them in a comfortable position on her back.

She was looking for somewhere to eat, because she felt like she was starving. She'd been flying since dawn, and she needed food.

The one part of travelling Harry didn't think she'd ever grow tired of, was the way you could just soak up the feel of a place.

Everywhere was different. The people, the language, the culture, the _feel_ of the air and the ambient magic.

All of it summed up to a unique atmosphere, and Harry loved it.

The buildings just added to it, and the tantalizing smells drifting about made her hunger spike.

She'd just turned down a busy alley lined with cosy-looking restaurants and street-kitchens when she heard raised voices a distance behind her.

It was instinct that made her raise her awareness, even though there had been nothing to indicate it had anything whatsoever to do with her.

Harry had been travelling for almost a year now, though, and she'd been wondering when her peace would be broken by her rotten luck.

Observing the crowd, she easily spotted a handful of men hurrying through it, in her direction, and it wasn't hard to see what they had their sights set on. Or rather, _who_.

With a mental sigh, Harry hurried her steps in an attempt to buy herself some time.

The alley was narrow enough she couldn't take flight, but she might be able to use her wings to assist a 'jump' up to the roof of the lowest building, if only there weren't quite so many people around.

And then there was the question of _why_ she was being followed.

Where they magicals? Muggle? And if so, what reason could they possibly have to go after her with such looks on their faces?

Mentally running through every possible escape route, Harry hurried through the crowd with quick, sure steps, people subconsciously parting before her, whether it was because of the look on her face or the magic humming in her blood, she didn't know.

If only she could get airborne, this wouldn't be much of an issue.

And Harry had really looked forward to that meal... oh well.

That was about as far as she got, before the first man caught up with her.

She caught his lunge after her from the corner of her eye, and automatically snapped out one of her wings, which struck him in the face and sent him sprawling on his back, cradling his nose.

The hit smarted, but Harry was used to worse.

With a tight, unamused smile, Harry stared at the rest of the group for just a second, and then turned around and ran.

There was a loud curse – or so she assumed – and someone yelled in surprise, and then the crowd seemed to catch on to the fact that something was going on.

It made it easier to run, but, it also made it easier for the guys chasing her.

Harry rounded the corner to get out on a larger street and noted with a pleased hum that it was large enough she'd be able to get into the air without much trouble.

She wasted no time in running out into the middle of the street, not caring one wit about the oncoming traffic, threw her wings wide and beat them frantically to get into the air as quickly as possible.

It was harder in the middle of the city, because the mass of buildings made the winds strange and Harry hadn't had time to get used to it yet, but she managed.

It was hard work, and it took no more than a glance to see the four guys that were following her – the one with a broken nose seemed to have fallen behind – come running onto the same street, snapping out their own wings to follow her.

Oh, they thought they had a chance in an aerial battle, did they?

Harry knew it wasn't arrogance to claim that there were _very_ few people who could out-fly her. Golden eagles were some of the fastest animals on the planet, and Harry had spent the better part of the last _year_ flying near-constantly, through all kinds of weather and terrain.

She focused on working her wings, knowing that take-off was where people with smaller wings might have her beat.

The men were shouting something to each other gesturing with their hands as they tried to work against the down-draft Harry's wings were creating, but she didn't care.

She wasn't going to stay around to wait and see what happened when it involved people with such aggressive, assertive body-language. She didn't want any trouble.

Not to mention that they were quite blatantly ganging up on her.

Harry finally got up to a height she could more comfortably fly, where the wind helped rather than hindered, and she just about had time to feel marginally accomplished, when _something_ whipped passed her, close enough to her wing she felt the wind-currents it kicked up.

Sharply moving to look over her shoulder, she saw something that made her gaze cool several degrees in an instant.

Guns.

They had guns, and they didn't seem shy about using them.

Well, at least that seemed to answer the question of it they were wizards or Muggles. Though it did nothing to clear up her confusion.

She hadn't done anything to attract this kind of attention!

Clenching her jaw, Harry instantly caught an up-draft and rose as quickly as she could, as high as she was capable.

Two of her pursuers followed her, but that wasn't much of an issue; Harry's focus was to even the odds a bit here.

Without pausing, she turned her climb into a steep dive, aiming straight for the one of her pursuers who looked to be issuing the most orders.

He screamed and scrambled to get out of her trajectory.

Harry had anticipated that, though, and adjusted as necessary, feeling two more shots miss her wings by a hair.

At the very last moment, a minute twitch of her wings allowed her to change position so that she hit the man feet-first, feet landing solidly on the other Avian's back. With the force of the impact, her weight and the speed she'd struck, he didn't stand a chance.

At least she'd been kind enough not to aim at his wings, Harry thought as she watched him careen near-uncontrollably towards the ground.

She didn't have time to hang around, though.

Quickly moving to reclaim the height she'd lost in her dive, Harry made sure to keep track of the remaining three men, all looking far more wary of her now.

With a fierce grin, Harry threw herself head-first into the game.

The question was, would they be up to the challenge of cornering Harry Potter in the air?

Somehow, she doubted it, but that didn't mean they weren't dangerous.

.

Winding her way in between the taller buildings of Chengdu at what was approaching top speed, she only had two guys left on her tail; she'd lost one a while back when she'd upped the speed.

The last two were stubborn, though, and seemed to have some sort of hawk wings, so they had an easier time keeping up.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry cursed under her breath when _another_ flyer entered the race, coming from the top of the high-rise building she was currently speeding past.

All she saw was a flash of white as she was working her wings to go faster, but...

The new Avian wasn't aiming for _her_.

Harry couldn't help but wheel around to look as one of her two insistent stalkers fell to the ground far below like a hapless rag-doll, which told her that this new person was far less kind and considerate than she was.

The last man took one look at the newcomer, banked sharply and did his best to get away as fast as he only could, even though Harry could tell he was nearing exhaustion after the acrobatic high-speed chase she'd led him on.

Letting the wind hold her in roughly the same place, Harry watched the newcomer warily, wondering what he'd do.

She didn't know why, what tipped her off, but she knew this guy was far more dangerous than the idiots she'd been dealing with until now.

She hadn't needed the help.

Staring at the stranger, watching him slowly wheel around in her direction, moving in a calm, almost lazy fashion, Harry wasn't aware of the stony look on her face, the cold steel in her eyes.

That man most likely just killed someone.

Never mind that the victim had been a shady asshole at best.

The stranger did nothing, though, other than fly in a tight circle a respectful distance away from her, so Harry tilted her wings and glided across the air currents to find a nice place to land.

And get that meal.

_Of course_ , the stranger had to follow after her.

She almost sighed.

Instead of wasting her breath, Harry changed her plans slightly, and flew on until she found a more appropriate landing site.

Spotting a large park with plenty of trees and vegetation, Harry folded her wings for a leisurely drop, snapping her wings open and flapping them a few times before she relaxed them and let herself fall the last distance to the ground, landing in a crouch.

She instantly turned to watch the stranger circle in constantly tighter turns, looking to land.

Her wand would be in her hand at barely more than a thought.

“What do you want?” she demanded the moment the stranger had touched down, causing him to give a surprised blink of dark eyes.

“English?” he mused quietly, most probably to himself, peering at her with growing curiosity.

Harry made an impatient noise in the back of her throat, wanting to get this over with so she could either Stun this man or finally get some _food!_

“Look, I don't have the patience for this, so if it's all the same to you, I'd rather we go our separate ways,” she said shortly, wings flexing behind her to reflect her mood.

If anything, that just made the stranger look more interested.

He didn't strike her as aggressive, though.

Which was why Harry finally just stood up straight, tucked her wings and stalked off. She needed food _now_ , or she was seriously going to maim someone.

She hadn't eaten all day, and she hadn't exactly planned for the aerial chase she'd just gotten out of.

The stranger folded his own impressive wings and fell into step a small distance behind her, but Harry was past the point of giving a shit.

.

Twenty minutes later, she was seated at the table of a small restaurant located practically in the middle of a side-street, the mouth-watering scents drifting about the place all but making it feel like her stomach was doing its best to devour _itself_.

Arms crossed over her chest, leaning back in the chair, she was staring unblinkingly at the man seated opposite from her.

He was wearing strange clothes, some sort of traditional Chinese garb in a beautiful shade of red with wide sleeves. He had black hair, most of which had been pulled back into a long braid, falling to the middle of his back, while bangs brushed his face in a very attractive manner.

The most annoying thing, though, was the polite, almost absent-minded smile on his face as he regarded her curiously.

Despite the fact that they looked _nothing_ alike, it reminded her of Luna, and thus made her inclined to relax and enjoy the company, but Harry stubbornly refused.

It was seriously pissing her off.

She'd already tried asking questions, though, and he hadn't replied, so Harry wasn't going to be the one breaking the silence this time.

Nope.

It might be nothing more than petty spite and her hunger speaking, but Harry was sticking to that decision.

She interrupted her not-quite-hostile staring contest with the man when the lady working as waitress arrived with her food, giving her a warm, grateful smile and a nod of thanks, before instantly digging in.

Food was far more important than her table partner, frankly, and she didn't care if it was rude.

It was more rude to invite yourself to dinner without permission or even so much as _asking_.

Merlin, what had she done to deserve this?

And of course the man _had_ to have a deep, smooth voice that automatically made her listen to it, even when she couldn't understand a word out of his mouth.

The man calmly spoke to the waitress a moment, who looked slightly wary but respectful, giving the man's wings a brief glance before giving him a surprisingly deep bow.

Harry watched the woman hurry back to the kitchen with a slight frown.

At his low, amused chuckle, her gaze snapped back to her insistent companion, ignoring the way the sound made a shiver move down her spine.

Her narrowed eyes merely seemed to make him regard her with more interest, which was vexing and vaguely frustrating, but at least there was food now.

Deciding to ignore the man to the best of her abilities, she focused on her food with stubborn determination, and the next time the waitress came by their table, she ordered another dish.

She did it by pointing at the rudimentary menu she'd been handed, which meant she couldn't be sure what she'd get, but Harry wasn't exactly a picky eater.

There hadn't been a dish yet that made her recoil in horror and disgust.

Dinner was eaten in silence, and both Harry and the man ordered several more dishes and Harry grudgingly had to admit it was... nice. Pleasant, even.

With a sigh, Harry waved at the waitress, who obligingly came over with a smile.

After some rudimentary sign-language, she managed to convince the woman to write down how much she owed.

She was kind enough to do it in western numbers, too, even though Harry was fairly sure she would have been able to work with the Chinese ones by now.

So Harry dug out her wallet from the bag still strapped securely to her front, paid what she owed and then some, and then got up and wandered off in search of somewhere to stay.

The soft rustling of feathers was the only thing alerting her to the fact she hadn't gotten rid of her silent companion.

Expression tightening slightly, she was still determined not to fold first, so she continued on her way, doing her best to ignore the man.

The streets of Chengdu were equally crowded everywhere, it seemed, and Harry suffered through it as she hunted down a decent hotel.

She may not have been able to read the signs, but after travelling for such a long time now, she knew the look of them.

Her companion still hadn't said more than a single word to her ever since she'd first laid eyes on him.

When she eventually found a place she'd be willing to stay, she turned around the stare up at the man who had followed in her steps all evening.

The man blinked at her, head tilting the barest fraction in curious inquisitiveness, for a very brief moment looking almost startled. With _what_ , Harry wasn't sure.

Crossing her arms over her chest again, chin rising slightly in a firm, challenging manner, she stared evenly at him.

She may have tolerated him following her around like a lost puppy, but she put her foot down when it came where she would sleep.

The man blinked again, glanced up at the building behind her and seemed to understand.

With a smile, he inclined his head in a polite semi-bow and wandered off without a fight.

Or a word.

Scowling after the man with frustrated irritation, Harry let her arms fall to her sides with a tired sigh.

Without dwelling on it, she went inside the hotel to check in, take a shower, and then get some sleep.

-x-x-x-

The next morning, after a mostly good rest and a hearty breakfast, Harry's mood was far more cheerful.

As far as trouble went, that hadn't been all that bad for her, and that done, she would hopefully be able to enjoy her stay in the city now.

With that thought in mind, she set out early, before the worst of the traffic could hit the streets.

Harry enjoyed the early mornings the most, which let her get a glimpse into the life of the local people, whether those were simple shop-owners or something a bit more glamorous.

It took her a while, but she _did_ notice her stalker problem.

She'd been walking around for about an hour before she could finally put a finger on that niggling feeling in the back of her head, but the problem was, she didn't know if it was the silent man from last night, or the group that had tried to corner her.

With a long-suffering sigh, Harry found the closest area that was large and open enough for her to spread her wings without issue, and then took to the air.

A few minutes later, large pure white wings with black secondaries – the longer feathers along the length of the wing – caught her attention in the sky with her.

Unimpressed, Harry changed course.

She had the height-advantage, having something of a preference for a higher cruising altitude, it was easy to dip into a dive for a half-hearted mock-attack.

The man seemed to sense her rapid approach, because he banked sharply to get out of her way and Harry evened out of her dive to circle the man, sending him an unamused look.

Flying didn't exactly promote conversation, but she was fairly confident her expression did enough speaking for her.

The man followed her progress with his eyes, gaze never leaving her form.

It was... almost flattering, actually, and Harry couldn't help but return the favour. She hadn't exactly been in the frame of mind to check anyone out while they'd been flying last evening, never mind the fact that he'd kept himself positioned behind her all throughout the flight.

Which would have made any ogling impractical, on top of uncomfortable.

Harry beat her wings once, twice, bringing herself a little higher, watching the man follow suit to keep up.

She felt one eyebrow tick up a little.

Was that... was that an invitation? For a flight?

The absurd part was that Harry felt inclined to accept. There was no denying that this man was attractive, despite the fact she didn't even know his name.

Letting herself glide slightly closer, Harry seriously contemplated the silent offer.

She noticed the instant the man snapped to attention, posture tensing slightly and the warm, friendly look in his eyes turned cold and calculating.

His focus wasn't on Harry, though, but below them, some distance away.

Tensing with alert readiness in response to the man's, that was about all Harry had time for.

There was an abrupt pressure on her right shoulder, as if someone had just punched her, and it almost felt like her ear on that side had popped. The shoulder, arm and part of the muscles powering the wing on that side instantly went cold and numb.

She didn't even realise she'd dropped several metres until she instinctively snapped her wings back out and pain like a serrated knife tore through her shoulder, down her back, down her chest and arm burned through her and made her grit her teeth around a deep hiss.

When she raised one hand to her shoulder, her fingers came away wet with blood.

What the fuck-?

White and red raced passed her in a dive that interrupted her shocked thoughts, bringing her back to the situation at hand.

Blinking tears from her eyes, Harry scanned the city-scape beneath her, gaze quickly focusing on the roof to one of the medium-sized high-rises. There were people on it, and some of them had just taken to the air, flying straight towards her.

One of them looked vaguely familiar, and Harry placed him after just a seconds' contemplation.

The broken nose was a big hint.

Oh, they thought they'd have an easy time of it if they just injured her a little first?

Lips stretching in a dark grin, Harry grit her teeth and determinedly flapped her wings to catch up to her unexpected ally.

He'd helped her yesterday, and it looked like he would do the same today.

By sight alone, she could tell the one still on the roof fired off several more shots, though aiming at the white-winged man this time, rather than her.

Harry folded her wings, despite the screaming agony the action elicited in her right one, and dove towards the ascending Avians.

With no remorse, Harry struck one of them feet first, feeling something give with a crunch under her shoes. She didn't watch him fall before focusing in on the next one.

Fingers itching for her wand, Harry fought with her skills and feet, using her superior speed and agility to her advantage, kicking two more out of the sky before she realised her companion had the rest well under control.

Breathing harshly, Harry pressed a shaking hand to her wound to try and stem the blood flow – flying as she had done hadn't helped in the _least –_ she began to look for a spot for an emergency landing.

Flapping her wings was agony, and every move felt like her muscles were shredding to meaty ribbons, but it wasn't like she could just _stop_.

Bright white entered her vision, and Harry focused on that, trying to keep her sight from going black, even as she accidentally let herself drop harshly another few metres.

Catching the wind again tore a strained scream from her throat.

She had no idea where the man was leading her, and she could only pray that her instincts had been right and he truly _wasn't_ part of the same group of people who had been after her twice now in as many days.

If he were, she'd probably be ending up handing herself over without much of a fight whether she wanted to or not.

Shit, she probably shouldn't have flown that aggressively with an injury like this.

Fuck, it _hurt_.

Focusing on the pure white wings in front of her until they were all she saw, Harry knew they were getting closer and closer to the ground.

She could feel the air rushing up to meet them.

Far too long a time later, yet at the same time much too soon, White reached the ground and Harry automatically beat her wings to bring her feet forward and slow herself to a stop.

The pain was intense enough her vision turned white, and she saw nothing when her feet slammed roughly into the ground, the jolt enough to nearly make her throw up, and she definitely would have fallen if it hadn't been for the strong arm slipping around her waist, catching most of her body-weight on her uninjured side.

Harry shamelessly leaned into the hold, trying to recover enough to actually _breathe_.

And see.

Raising her left hand to grasp blindly at soft, silky cloth, she clung to the man, letting him take most of her weight.

“Can you fold your wings?” he asked, voice just as deep as it had been last night, but grave and- was that a hint of concern she was hearing?

Harry took a deep breath, trying to focus on what he had actually said, rather than the voice he had said it _in_.

On her second try, her left wing lifted off the ground and folded obediently against her back.

The right one, though... the agony shooting through her torso at the attempt nearly made her collapse.

“Yes, and no,” Harry replied breathlessly as soon as she was capable of speech, voice rough from the pain.

“Can you manage to stand on your own for a moment?” he asked next, and Harry pried her eyes open to glance at him.

“Yes,” she said, voice firm and sure despite the way her body was trembling from pain and adrenalin.

The man nodded shortly and slowly stepped away from her, giving her time to regain her balance and find her feet.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned, sending her a quick glance, before focusing back on her wing.

“Do your worst.” Harry grinned, feeling absurdly amused, even as she took a deep, bracing breath.

The man nodded with a small, entertained smile playing around his lips, and then bent down to take hold of her wing and folding it up manually.

The strain on her injury was far less than what it would have been had she done it herself, but that didn't mean it was painless.

Before she had fully recovered, the man had carefully lifted her off her feet, one arm behind her wings, ensuring they'd remain tucked against her back, and the other under her knees.

Harry let her head fall against his shoulder when he started walking, and lost her grip on consciousness in about the same moment.

-x-x-x-


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God Jul, everyone! Merry Christmas, Happy holidays, or, if you don't celebrate at all, then have a very happy Thursday! ^^

“Put her on the bed,” Huang said briskly, not looking up from where he was gathering together what he would need.

Without hesitation, Fon did as asked, carefully lowering the woman down onto the mattress before sliding his arms out from under her.

“Here, cut her shirt off,” the doctor said, tossing Fon a pair of scissors.

Fon plucked them out of the air with ease, and then leaned down to start on his new task.

With meticulous care and gentle fingers, Fon cut through the sturdy, well-worn fabric of her jacket – perfect for flying – and peeled it back to reveal the mess underneath when he was done.

Huang swore. “What the hell did she do?” he demanded to know grumpily, kicking the metal stool on wheels closer to the hospital bed before sitting down on it, pulling a pair of latex gloves onto his hands.

“Some quite remarkable flying,” Fon replied in a facsimile of his normally serene manner.

“With a bullet in her shoulder?” Huang asked distractedly, examining the wound in question critically. “Damn.”

A few, tense minutes later, he pressed a compress against the entrance hole and leaned back with a small sigh. “At least it wasn't the wing,” he muttered to himself, before he sent Fon a sharp-eyed look. “Hand me the pliers over there,” he ordered, gaze flicking briefly to the metal table off to the side.

Fon did as asked without a word of complaint.

Huang then proceeded by inserting the pliers into the bullet wound, carefully digging around until he'd located the bullet, and withdrew them with the mangled piece of metal clenched securely at the end.

“Surprisingly low calibre to bring someone down,” Huang commented idly, though he was mostly occupied with his patient.

Fon's brows pulled together in a slight frown.

They hadn't shot her with the intent to kill, or to even seriously harm her; they'd shot her in the hopes she'd go in for an emergency landing at the nearest available surface. Or to just make her easier to subdue.

What Fon really wanted to know was what she'd done to be targeted by that particular kind of scum.

He'd make sure to ask her once she regained consciousness.

Standing back to let the doctor work in peace, Fon stood himself by the wall, where he'd be out of the way and unobtrusive, though he couldn't help but study the interesting plethora of scars decorating the woman's torso and arms.

Nothing fresh; the most recent one looked to be a couple of years old, though it was the most severe of the lot; a jagged, deep cut on her chest, straight over the heart.

Fon silently wondered what had caused it. And how she had survived.

“She'll live,” Huang declared wryly once he was done, the shoulder wrapped neatly in crisp bandages. “The bullet might have nicked the lung, but I fixed up most of the internal damage. She'll still need plenty of rest and recuperation, _no flying,_ and tell her to seek out a professional for a check up in about a week,” he said briskly, sending Fon a look.

“Understood.” Fon smiled calmly, shaking the sleeves of his changshan over his hands.

Huang scoffed under his breath, but got up and walked out of the room, leaving Fon and his new friend on their own.

Fon slowly approached the woman for a closer inspection of the doctor Sun's work; he may be part of the underworld, and had plenty of shady dealings, but Huang usually did good work. At least for Fon.

He carefully considered the situation he'd found himself in, and the various directions it could move in.

For a few minutes, Fon allowed himself to lose himself in his own thoughts.

He knew for a fact now that she was being targeted, that – for some reason – that upstart gang were out to get their hands on her.

Had they sensed what Fon had?

He couldn't help but seriously doubt it. Fon hadn't realised anything until they'd gotten to the restaurant and the woman had finally relaxed a fraction, once she'd gotten some food in her.

And that flying...

Fon inspected the bandages with intent, assessing eyes.

Huang seemed to have done his job properly once again. Which was very wise; Fon wouldn't accept anything less.

With a small nod to himself, Fon covered the woman's chest with her ruined clothes, jacket on top, and then lifted her into his arms with gentle care.

Sweeping his gaze over the sterile room to make sure nothing important would be left behind, Fon stalked from the room.

.

Fon slowly lowered the injured woman onto the bed, sliding his arms out from under her, only to spend some time carefully arranging her wings in comfortable positions.

He ended up frowning at the drying blood speckling her right wing, staining the beautiful golden-brown feathers.

Knowing from personal experience just how difficult it was to wash blood out of your wings, Fon went to collect a soft, clean rag and a bowl of lukewarm water.

The longer it was left to dry, the harder it would be to get out.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, the bowl of water placed on the bedside table, Fon gingerly began to dab at the first few feathers with the generously damp rag.

He lost himself in the work, mindful not to pull on any of the feathers he was working on, and an hour must have passed.

Fon leaned back a bit to observe his progress, looking over his work so far, only to pause at the sliver of green peering back at him from heavy, half-lidded eyes.

“Ah, apologies.” Fon smiled, though he didn't stop what he was doing; she was in no condition to do this herself. “I'm washing out the blood,” he explained when she said nothing.

Fon dropped the rag into the bowl of rust-red liquid, lifted the whole thing and went to exchange it for clean water.

He could feel the woman's eyes on him through it all, watching his every move.

Saying nothing, Fon continued his self-appointed task of cleaning her wing, having less than halfway left.

A soft sigh made him raise his eyes back to the woman's face, watching the slight furrow between her eyebrows.

She slowly moved one hand up her stomach, across her chest, only to touch the bandages.

Fon snatched her hand away before she could do more than attempt to dig her fingers into the bindings.

“Don't do that,” he reproached softly. “You made quite the mess of it with all that flying.”

Eyes greener than polished jade stared unblinkingly at him, making it feel like he could hardly breathe for a moment.

She finally relaxed fully against the bed, hand going limp in his and Fon slowly went back to the blood-stained feathers, cleaning them one by one.

-x-x-x-

Harry had woken up far more easily than she had half expected.

There were no potions in her system to ensure she stayed under, and there was no cloying darkness she had to fight her way out of, tooth and nail.

Instead, she was lying on something soft, gentle fingers working through the feathers on one of her wings, and a quiet, steady breath close to her own.

Eyes sliding open, it took Harry a moment to focus her gaze.

What almost immediately drew her attention, however, was not the unfamiliar ceiling, nor the equally as unfamiliar room, but the man sitting beside her, preening her wing.

Using a wet rag, he was wiping down her feathers, one by one, the cloth coming away a rusty red that – for a moment – confused her.

And then- ah, yes. She'd been shot. _Of all things_.

That had never happened to her before...

And after the last ones had been either chased off or knocked out of the sky, they'd landed – he'd helped her land – and then... then.

Then, Harry had collapsed against him and she was pretty sure he'd picked her up.

And now here she was, what couldn't be all that many hours later, lying on a soft mattress, wound clearly having been tended to and getting her wing cleaned with ridiculous care.

Harry wasn't even that careful when she preened her own wings.

She usually got impatient, a bit frustrated at the difficulty to reach and then ended up yanking a few feathers out on accident. Which, without fail, always hurt like a bitch.

“Don't do that,” he said firmly, eyes staring intently at her, pinning her in place. “You made quite the mess of it with all that flying,” he said by way of explanation and didn't let go of her hand.

...it wasn't like he'd made any attempt to hurt her so far, she mused quietly, in a distant part of her mind. This was fine, wasn't it?

Harry let herself relax fully onto the bed, deciding not to attempt some sort of half-assed dash for freedom when it didn't even feel like she was in danger.

In fact, she felt incredibly safe.

Ironically, it might have something to do with the fact that white-wings here moved with the grace of a stalking tiger, and his gaze burned with inner strength.

Harry couldn't help the way her gaze slid to the side, to watch his profile as he worked.

Dozing contentedly on the edge between wakefulness and sleep, she listened to the man move, felt his fingers threading through her feathers and there couldn't possibly be any blood left by now.

She didn't feel like speaking up about it and make him stop, though.

Her right wing had ended up mostly unfolded and hanging over the edge of the bed to rest against the floor, to give him better access and it was surprisingly comfortable.

Fingers abruptly burying themselves into the feathery limb to dig into the skin beneath, pressing into muscles, sinews and bone with firm pressure made her whole body jolt, damn near causing her to fling herself clear off the bed.

Harry was wide awake now.

Turning a wide-eyed stare at the man, Harry wasn't sure if she'd been about to open her mouth to snap angrily at him or do something else, but white-wings wasn't looking at her.

He didn't even appear to be aware of what he was doing, and his fingers were _still_ doing that!

Trying not to squirm, Harry brought one trembling hand to her injured shoulder to gingerly cradle her wounded appendage. Jolting like that hadn't been comfortable, but it wasn't like it had been a voluntary reaction.

“Can you- not do that?” Harry managed to say hoarsely a few seconds later, mentally marvelling at the breathy quality to her voice.

White-wings blinked and then looked at her, first at her face and rigid posture, and then down at his own hand.

Eyes widening, the man instantly let go of her wing and removed his hand like it had burned his fingers.

“I- My apologies,” he said, still slightly wide-eyed, inclining his head in a proper bow. “I didn't- that wasn't intentional,” he murmured, shaking the sleeves of his strange shirt over his hands, as if her being unable to see them might make her feel better.

Harry slowly took a deep breath and tried to unwind, make her heart slow down from the frantic pace it had leapt into.

She slowly eased back on the bed, attempting to smooth down her puffed up feathers and just, regain her footing, so to speak.

“That was unexpected,” she muttered to herself, raising her hand from her shoulder to her face, rubbing at her cheek and peering at white-wings with one eye. “I don't usually let anyone outside family touch my wings, and I don't even know your name,” she said after an awkward silence, a touch of wry amusement tinting her voice.

White-wings slowly raised his head to blink at her, looking silently startled and mildly guilty. “Fon,” he said a moment later.

“And I'm Harry,” she returned, attempting to fold up her wing so that she could shift her position slightly, only to wince when the muscles in her chest and back tensed. “Nice to meet you and all that,” she added belatedly, blinking a bit and focusing back on white-wings, on Fon.

They stared mutely at each other for a long moment, neither seeming to know what to do or say.

It felt like they'd leapt way past introductions and into far trickier waters right from the start.

How to proceed from here?

“Would you like some water?” Fon asked tentatively what felt like ten minutes later, but had more likely just been one, at most.

“Yes, please,” Harry returned quickly, eagerly accepting the offer. Partly because she couldn't stand the loaded silence a second longer, and partly because she was parched.

She shortly found herself in a seated position – courtesy Fon – and with a glass of cold water pressed into her currently only reliably working hand.

Harry slowly sipped the water, getting her first real look at the room they were in.

It was simple, somewhat traditional, with the bed making up the clear centre-piece. There was a small kitchen through a doorway off to the left, with another door leading to what she assumed was a bathroom and not much more.

It definitely didn't look like a hotel room.

“Would you like to borrow a shirt?” Fon inquired politely when she handed him the empty glass back, and Harry blinked.

Looking down on herself, she realised for the first time that she wasn't actually wearing anything more than the bandages around her right shoulder, and her trousers.

“...that seems impractical,” she finally said with a sigh. Any clothes Fon could borrow her wouldn't have the nifty charms sown into them that made being an Avian so much easier when it came to clothes, either. Never mind that the thought of having to raise her arm made her want to grimace. “We'll need to change the bandages pretty often, right?” she asked, rubbing a hand over her face again.

Why did she always manage to get herself into the strangest situations?

Fon nodded and then tilted his head in thought, peering curiously at her.

It reminded her of the way he'd been looking at her during their... dinner date. She grimaced a little at the thought, and couldn't help but snort softly at herself.

“You should rest,” Fon eventually declared, helping her lie back down with gentle hands, careful not to touch her wings again more than he absolutely had to.

Harry wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

Deciding that she was clearly delirious from pain and exhaustion, she settled down to sleep and didn't think about it.

.

She wasn't sure how long she'd slept. She just knew that when she woke up next, her bag was stood on the floor next to the bed she'd been sleeping in.

“Wha-?” Harry murmured sleepily, reaching out with her hand, only to abruptly stop the movement with a pained wince.

Yeah, no. That hadn't been a good idea.

With a quiet groan, she tried to push herself into a seated position, only for strong hands to catch her and help ease the transition into partially upright.

“Fon,” Harry murmured, blinking blearily up at the man and recalling the name he'd given her. “You have beautiful eyes.”

The words were just out of her mouth before she had a chance to censor herself, and she probably would have groaned again – for entirely different reasons – if she hadn't been too tired to give a shit.

She could be embarrassed later.

“Thank you.” Fon smiled, looking like he was greatly amused and rather pleased. “Here. It's water,” he said, pressing a cool glass to her lips.

Harry obligingly drank the whole thing down, feeling much better afterwards, and a bit more clear-headed.

“How long have I slept?”

“About a day and a half,” Fon answered easily, pressing one palm to her forehead. “You were running a slight fever, but it seems to have let up,” he hummed with obvious satisfaction.

And he proceeded to press another glass of water to her lips.

Harry wasn't complaining.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked into the calm, peaceful silence. “Even that first time, why did you get involved?”

Fon stilled, gaze sliding to meet her own from where he'd been inspecting her bandages.

“It wasn't necessarily to help you,” he said, wings shifting a little on his back, almost like a shrug. “I'd been on the lookout for those men for a while, and I jumped in partly to interrupt them and partly to send a message. But you were interesting.” He smiled.

Harry felt like sticking out her tongue at him, but tactfully refrained from such childish inclinations. With some difficulty.

“That might be true for the first time,” Harry allowed. “But you can't say the same for this,” she said, motioning at her wounded shoulder – it seemed like Fon had changed the bandages sometime since she'd last looked at it – with a pointed look at the man.

“You were interesting,” Fon repeated, still with that serene smile splayed across his features, like there was nothing at all wrong with the world.

Only, that wasn't quite true.

There was a sharp glint in his eyes at the mention of her getting shot, like the thought alone made him seethe.

He leaned forward slightly, staring her straight in the eyes, “What did you do to get their attention?” he asked.

Harry blinked. “Nothing? I mean, I'd just gotten to Chengdu, so I suppose it's possible they saw me fly in?”

Fon studied her intently a long second, before his full focus withdrew to something less nerve-wracking,

“Who are they?” she couldn't help but ask.

Curiosity had always been something of a staple to her personality. And one of the leading causes to her landing herself in trouble.

“They're a small gang that's recently started dabbling in human trafficking,” Fon said after a short pause, smile turning cold and humourless. “I imagine you were targeted because you're a female Avian travelling on your own; it would take a while before anyone noticed you missing, and by then, you'd be near impossible to track down.”

Which wouldn't have stopped her friends for even a second.

Harry was fairly confident that Ron and Hermione would tear down just about anything standing in their way to find her.

She sighed. “How nice,” she mused quietly to herself. “It's always lovely to feel wanted,” Harry drawled, scowling up at the ceiling.

“There aren't many people with wings like yours, _Laoying_.” And he ran quick, nimble fingers down her wing, gentle but firm and it made her shiver with pleasure before she could stop herself.

“Yeah,” she breathed, feeling a bit out of sorts, “I'm aware.”

And the tension was back.

Harry was overly aware of the fact that she was half-naked, and that Fon's fingers were still resting against the feathers of the first join of her left wing.

She cleared her throat. “Never seen wings like yours, either,” she said, trying to think of _anything_ other than Fon's hand on her wing, the weight of his eyes on her skin.

The man slowly unfolded his wings, as much as the room allowed, giving her a more proper look at them.

They were so white they damn near _sparkled_.

“Red-crowned crane, I think is the name in English,” he said, smile notably absent from his face.

“Golden eagle,” Harry returned weakly, barely taking her eyes off of the _gorgeous_ wings being displayed for her sake.

Her own wings twitched minutely in instinctive response, and she didn't even care that it sent a stab of pain through her shoulder.

Fon slowly tucked his wings against his back again, gaze never so much as wavering from her own.

“May I?” he asked, formal and polite and there was no question in Harry's head about what it was he was asking.

“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead,” Harry agreed, the words all but falling from her mouth on their own.

Fon stood up and moved up to the headboard, where he seated himself. Behind her.

Harry opened her wings and laid them as best she could on the bed on either side of her, giving him easier access.

Fon touched his fingers to the base of the joints on her back, making her close her eyes.

Running his fingers over the fuzz where skin transitioned into feathers, he slowly worked his way through the thick plumage. Removing the odd lose feather, placing them correctly where sleep had disturbed them from their intended positions.

Harry sat stock still, every touch sending shivers up her back, leaving goose-bumps on her arms.

She had cried the first time Molly had asked if she needed any help grooming her wings, back when she'd been twelve and had just spent weeks locked up in her Aunt and Uncle's house like a criminal. Her best friend's mother working endlessly gentle fingers through her baby down, and the tears had just started dripping from her eyes.

Harry had hid her face in her knees and refused to look up until she'd had herself back under control.

This was _nothing_ like that.

Fingers curling into the sheets, Harry determinedly regulated her breathing to keep it calm, even and relaxed.

When it was needed, her wing shifted to give him easier access as if of its own accord, without any conscious input from Harry. Who, admittedly, was pretty distracted at that point.

Ron had helped her groom her wings regularly back at Hogwarts, with Harry returning the favour just as often, yet it had never felt like this.

Like every feather touched was a question asked and answered. Like every brush of fingers was a whisper in her ear, meant for her and no one else.

When he was all but done with her second wing, Harry pushed herself to her knees, ignoring her body's protests with ease, and spun around to face the man.

Harry leaned into the man's personal space, fully functioning arm draped over his shoulder. She pressed her lips to his at the same time as she buried her fingers in one of his wings, the soft feathers like wisps of solidified air to her touch.

“I'd like to return the favour,” she murmured against his lips when she broke off the kiss, staring intently into his eyes.

This close, Fon's eyes looked more a deep, warm red than brown.

They looked _nothing_ like Tom's.

“It's a lot of wing to cover,” Fon replied evenly after a short pause, where he'd blinked several times, as if to clear his head.

“So I'll take my time,” Harry _insisted_.

She could have _lost_ her right arm and she still would have wanted to do this.

Fon stared at her a moment longer, before he complied without a word.

And before she knew it, their positions had been reversed; Harry sitting with her back comfortably against the headboard, Fon in front of her, wings resting loosely against the mattress on either side of him.

Harry tried lifting her right arm, but grimaced at the pain. No, that still wasn't working as it should.

So, making do with just her left hand, Harry began to work her fingers through the feathers at the base of Fon's left wing.

It was fascinating, watching her fingers slide through the pure white plumage, so different from any of her friends'.

She was used to see her fingers amongst her own brown feathers, Ron's grey, Ginny's chestnut and black, and on one occasion, Neville's. None of them came even close.

Harry slowly worked her way through the feathers, putting them all in place and removing any loose, moulted ones she came across, which joined her own on the floor beside the bed.

She lost herself to the calming monotony of it, steadily making her way out to the tip of the first wing, silently marvelling at the deep contrast between the pure white and pitch black secondaries.

By the time she was done, it was dark out, Harry was _exhausted_ , but with a satisfied burn in her chest, and more than ready to sleep.

Fon helped her lie down and then pressed a firm, heated, but simple kiss to her mouth.

Harry smiled against his lips and near-instantly fell asleep.

-x-x-x-

She saw very little of Fon over the next few days, and she almost wondered if what had transpired between the two of them had been nothing more than a very vivid fever-dream.

Her shoulder was feeling better each day, and she slept most of her time away.

Lying on her side, as close to the edge of the bed as she could get away with without risk of falling off, her wings stretched out marginally on the mattress behind her – to stave off cramps – and Harry was dozing lightly when the sound of the door closing quietly drifted through the haze of sleep.

She didn't quite wake, recognizing the barely-there sound of movements and the barest whisper of feet against the floor.

Fon had come back.

An indeterminable time later, the mattress dipped behind her and something ruffled the feathers on the underside of the wing, close to the joint where wing and back met.

Harry pressed into the touch, body curling up a bit tighter.

Fingers buried themselves deeper, until they pressed into the bone and flesh beneath and a quiet moan slipped from between her lips.

Fon withdrew his fingers, causing Harry to lift her head to glare blearily at him over her shoulder.

To which the man gave a calm, damn near _smug_ smile. The prat.

Harry grumbled wordlessly under her breath and pushed herself into a seated position, turning to face Fon more properly.

Or, at least she didn't have her back to him any more. Which should count for something.

“I need to change your bandages,” he said easily, as if he hadn't just done something that had left her feeling mildly turned on.

Harry frowned half-heartedly and let herself fall backwards until she was sprawled on her back, staring up at Fon.

Who was staring right back at her, eyes intent and no longer looking so damn smug and self-satisfied.

Her lips curled up in a very small, very pleased smirk.

It was a rather interesting game they were playing, and Harry rather enjoyed it, even if she hadn't quite figured out the purpose to it yet.

Fon reached for her shoulder and quickly and efficiently unwrapped the bandages, revealing what lay beneath. After poking and prodding the slowly healing skin a moment, he walked into the bathroom to get the antiseptic and everything else he'd need to clean it properly.

Harry waited patiently for him to return and finish up.

“We need to go visit a doctor for a check-up, and then I was thinking we could eat out?” Fon said into the comfortable silence, ending his sentence on a questioning note.

“Sounds fantastic; I feel like I've done nothing more than sleep for over a week,” Harry instantly agreed, her words seemingly ignoring the largely lethargic sprawl she was currently in. It felt like it was taking forever, though.

Fon tied off the bandages and smiled.

Harry smiled back at him and sat back up. “I suppose clothes will be required,” she muttered to herself, glancing down at her own lack of a shirt.

It wasn't like she'd seen the need to get dressed more than necessary while she'd been here, and she'd wanted to avoid questions about how it was possible for her clothes to just phase through her wings to settle against her back.

With a small sigh, Harry got out a t-shirt from her bag, forgoing a bra, and pulled it over her head.

Fon watched her curiously, gaze going back and forth between her face and wings and back again a few times, but he didn't say anything. Yet.

After putting on her shoes, Harry was ready to go.

Which Fon seemed perfectly happy to go along with, leading her out of the building.

The moment she stepped foot outside, Harry took a deep breath and looked up at the sky, wings twitching longingly.

She wanted to stretch her wings.

Fon took her hand, sent her a sympathetic look, and began to lead her down the back-street in what she could only assume was the direction of the doctor's place.

They didn't hurry.

Harry enjoyed every moment in the sun and the lazy breeze, the slow, leisurely walk through less-travelled streets and alleys.

Fon was still holding her hand, and Harry liked it. It felt nice.

It made her warm in a way that had nothing at all to do with the morning sun and the pleasant temperature.

About ten minutes later, they arrived at their destination; a slightly run-down, traditional looking house without any sort of sign on it.

Harry raised an eyebrow, glanced at Fon and let him lead her inside without a word of protest.

The inside didn't look all that different, at first, but soon enough, it was starting to look like a proper clinic, as far as Harry could tell.

It made her wonder what sort of place this really was.

Fon spoke with an elderly woman in rapid Chinese and then they were taken to what looked like a private examination room that could just as well have belonged in a modern hospital. As far as Harry knew; she hadn't exactly been a lot.

Fon let go of her hand and placed himself by the wall, hands hidden amongst the roomy sleeves of his shirt again; it seemed like a preference of his, to be honest.

While the man lurked off to the side, Harry looked around. She curiously inspected what looked like top-notch equipment, well stocked cupboards and what else there was.

This didn't look like it belonged in this neighbourhood.

Instead of asking any questions, Harry walked over to the single bed and took a seat, shifting her wings so that they could hang down over the other side, feathers almost brushing the floor.

They didn't have to wait all that long before a short, balding man opened the door and walked in, gaze finding Fon almost immediately, before it moved on to light on Harry, who stared levelly back.

There was grey sprinkled in his thinning hair, and fine, tentative wrinkles gracing his face.

If she was forced to guess, she'd say he was somewhere around his fifties?

He opened his mouth and spoke a greeting, bobbing his head in a respectful bow in Fon's direction, before he slowly approached Harry with a stream of questions.

None of which she understood.

Instead, Fon answered for her, smoothly interjecting and drawing the doctor's attention, a polite smile on his face the whole time.

The examination that followed was both competent and mildly absurd.

And Harry was used to there being potions, wands and ridiculous-sounding words involved, so that was saying something.

Not that the doctor was the cause for the bizarre feeling, no. That was all on Fon.

Fon was hovering. Not over Harry, but the _doctor_. The man couldn't so much as twitch without notice with how intently Fon was watching him.

It was making the older man visibly nervous and immensely uncomfortable.

Harry was reluctantly amused; she'd never seen anyone look that polite and menacing at the same time.

Fon's voice had never wavered from a calm, friendly timbre either, but there was _something_ about him that threatened ruthless retaliation if so much as a finger moved out of turn.

When the examination was done, the doctor shamelessly fled the room, and Harry didn't blame him.

“Was that really necessary?” she asked, tugging her shirt back into place; the doctor had wanted to listen to her lungs and heart, not to mention examine her shoulder.

Fon blinked questioningly at her, looking genuinely surprised and a little confused.

“The silent intimidation? I doubt the man would have dared do anything even without the looming; he was scared of you already when he walked into the room,” Harry clarified easily, getting to her feet and stretching her arms over her head, pleased to note that the action hardly even stung.

The check-up had had good results!

Humming happily to herself, Harry walked up to Fon and tugged gently on his braid. “Come on; I was promised food.” She grinned.

Fon blinked again, but there was a small, almost helpless smile on his face. As if he wasn't sure what to make of her.

Harry couldn't help but stand on her toes, reaching up to kiss that smile.

And then she quickly walked out the door, before he could do anything to react and before she could mentally drown herself in self-doubt and questions along the lines of just what in Merlin's name it was she was doing.

Fon was a complete stranger; she hardly knew a thing about him!

Yet Harry was acting like a love-sick teenager experiencing her first crush. Urgh, she was acting like someone out of one of Lavender's tacky romance novels, wasn't she?

Before she could berate herself too much, Fon had caught up and fallen into step next to her, sending her a warm glance that settled Harry's nerves and made her insides flutter with excitement at the same time.

Yeah, she was being ridiculous.

But it wasn't too bad.

.

For all that neither of them seemed to be all that sure how to go about whatever it was that was growing between them, the question of if they should separate never came up.

It just wasn't an option, and Harry didn't notice until she'd spent more than a week exploring Chengdu with Fon, both by foot and in the air.

She'd lost quite a bit of muscle during her almost two week long stint in bed, but she was regaining them quickly and with firm determination.

It wasn't until Harry brought up the possibility of flying to the next place that she realised one, very crucial, detail that had completely slipped her mind, what with everything that had happened lately.

“ _Shit_ ,” Harry cursed out loud, freezing in her tracks.

Fon looked up, mildly alarmed and after a brief glance at her, began to scan their surroundings for anything suspicious.

Harry waved a hand at him, feeling the first tendrils of panic spread through her gut.

“No, no, nothing like that,” she insisted with a nervous laugh. “I just, remembered something I've forgotten to do. Do you have a phone?”

“I do,” Fon returned slowly, leaning back in his chair to stare at her, clearly wondering what this was about. “Would you like to borrow it?” he inquired politely.

Harry made a small noise in the back of her throat and slapped his arm. “Of course I want to borrow it! Why else would I bring it up?” she demanded to know, nonetheless with a small grin stretching her lips.

Which had no doubt been his intention all along.

Fon handed over a sleek, fancy-looking mobile with an amused smile.

Harry stuck her tongue out at him before she looked down at the device in her hands with wary curiosity. Would it explode if she accidentally exposed it to her magic?

“Can you show me how to operate this thing, and I also feel I ought to tell you this will be pretty pricey.” Harry looked up at Fon through her lashes, voice playful but feeling mostly serious.

Fon obligingly slid closer, until he was sitting pressed up against her side, right wing unfolding enough to hug her back and pulling her even closer.

“You unlock it like this,” he said, and proceeded to show her his pin-code, how to type it in and get to the thing you could _actually_ ring people with. Because this mobile was fancy enough you could supposedly do a whole lot more.

Harry quickly dialled in the right number, making sure to add the area code and everything.

Before she pressed the green call-symbol, she took a moment to take a deep breath, though.

Looking around the busy restaurant they were currently in, Harry deemed it to be the perfect spot for this conversation, and only partly because basically no one knew English. There were enough people no one would pay any particular attention to her.

Harry pressed the green symbol and brought the mobile to her ear, listening to the dial tone.

It rang for a long moment, and she was starting to think that they weren't home when someone _finally_ picked up and a familiar though sleepy voice said,

“ _Granger residence.”_

Which instantly made her realise that she had forgotten all about the time difference, and since it was shortly after nine in the morning here... oh, wow. It would be sometime after three in the morning back in Britain.

Oops?

“Hi, Dan,” Harry greeted with a nervous grin that was without a doubt audible in her voice. “Sorry about the early hour; I completely forgot what the time was over there.”

There was silence, and then she could hear Dan shouting into the house for Emma. “ _Harry! Oh, dear Lord, do you have_ any _idea how worried we've been!?_ ” he demanded to know, instantly wide awake and sounding like he was scolding a disobedient two year old. “ _We've been worried sick over here! No letters, no calls, no way of contacting you and we've all been beside ourselves!_ ”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Harry returned weakly, having slid down a little in her seat, much to Fon's amusement. The ass. “I've got a pretty good reason,” she added half-heartedly.

“ _Oh, you better have, young lady,_ ” Dan groused, and then turned slightly away from the speaker to explain to Emma what was going on.

Only to have the phone yanked from his hand. Or so Harry assumed, because the next instant, Emma's voice was in her ear.

“ _Harry! Are you alright, dear? We've been so worried! Hermione and Ron will be so relieved to know we've heard from you; I've had to convince them not to go rushing off to find you, but even that was getting more difficult, and I'm so relieved,”_ Emma said, all in one rush, making it quite clear where Hermione had gotten that particular trait from.

“I'm perfectly alright,” Harry said with a small, involuntary smile. “I'm fine, I just had a bit of an accident, and then there were some other things going on and I just completely forgot,” she explained apologetically, feeling even more sheepish when she put it all into words.

Fon snorted softly next to her and she elbowed him in the side.

“ _Hang on, love, Dan is going to the floo-thing to call Hermione and Ron_ ,” Emma said next, sounding slightly concerned, but didn't otherwise acknowledge her words.

Harry let out a quiet sigh, bracing herself for further chastisements.

Hopefully, no one would go get Molly just yet; she didn't think she could take the crippling disappointment on top of everything else.

She wouldn't have to wait with growing trepidation much longer, because she could hear people hurrying up to the phone, and then it was no doubt snatched from Emma's fingers.

“ _HARRY!_ ” two voices chorused loudly on the other end, making Harry wince and yank the mobile away from her ear for a second.

“Yeah, it's me,” she returned weakly a heartbeat later, hunkering down a bit more into her seat when it sounded like Hermione promptly burst into tears.

“ _Do you have any idea how worried we've been, mate?_ ” Ron asked seriously, making all of her droop even further.

“Yes, I know. It wasn't on purpose, you know that, right?” she couldn't help but fire back.

Ron sighed heavily, as if a crushing load had just been taken off his shoulder. “ _Yeah, I know, Harry._ ” And he was smiling now; she could hear it. _“So? Gonna tell me about your outrageous adventure or not? We're both listening,”_ he said, and Harry felt an abrupt pang of acute home-sickness.

“So, um,” Harry cleared her throat, “it wasn't anything I did this time, I swear! But, I may have been targeted by a gang dealing in human trafficking?” she began awkwardly, and the heavy, resigned sigh on the other end was proof of how well her friends knew her. “And since they didn't have much success in catching me,” Ron snorted loudly at the notion, “I may have gotten just a little bit, um, shot.”

There was silence for a long couple of seconds.

“ _You were shot_ ,” Hermione repeated flatly, speaking up for the first time, the news seemingly shocking her out of her relieved tears. “ _As in, by a gun._ ” And it wasn't a question.

“Just a little bit,” Harry couldn't help but quip half-heartedly.

“They tried to shoot you out of the sky,” Fon seemingly couldn't help but say, sounding wryly amused and looking fully aware of what he was doing.

Harry mock-scowled at him.

“ _...who was that?_ ” And that was Hermione.

“Well, I was shot. And then someone helped me,” Harry said, perfectly truthfully.

“ _How long ago did this incident happen, Harry?_ ” Ron inquired, and he sounded pretty amused himself by now.

Harry felt like pouting. “Two weeks ago? A little more?” Three weeks ago? She sent Fon a questioning look, to which he inclined his head in agreement.

“ _And you're still spending time with him?_ ” Hermione asked slyly.

“Yeah,” Harry replied slowly, feeling the first stirrings of cautious alarm at her friends' reaction to this. “What of it?”

“ _Oh, I'm just trying to digest the news that you've apparently gotten yourself a boyfriend,_ ” Hermione said sweetly, and Harry abruptly wanted to hang up in hear ear.

“We're not a couple; I hardly know anything about him,” Harry scoffed, stubbornly ignoring the few kisses they'd shared, and the fact that they'd taken to preening each other's wings regularly. Sleeping in the same bed. But that wasn't the same, she told herself at the same time as a small part of her mind sang at her about a little thing called 'denial'.

The ringing silence on the other end alerted her to the fact that she had most likely said something she probably shouldn't have.

“ _I really didn't need to know that_ ,” Ron said mildly, sounding vaguely disturbed. She was sure she heard Emma snicker in the background.

Harry blinked, frowned and tried to connect the dots when Hermione graciously decided to do it for her.

“ _If you haven't spent the last few weeks together_ talking _, then it leaves one to wonder what it is you've done to occupy yourselves,_ ” she snickered.

Harry felt her face slowly heat up, and Fon, the utter git, didn't make anything better by reaching up to bury his fingers into the base of her left wing, all but turning her into putty on the spot.

“You both are the worst,” Harry told them idly, unable to stop herself from giving a pleased sigh when Fon smoothed down the feathers he'd just disturbed.

The self-satisfied look he sent her in response made her want to snort.

“ _Just try to keep in contact regularly from now on, yeah?_ ” Ron asked, suppressed laughter in his voice. “ _Or we really are going to hunt you down, next time_ ,” he promised with light-hearted ease that nonetheless was perfectly serious and went down to his soul.

“ _We should get back to bed; we've got to get up for work in a few hours, but you two enjoy yourselves!_ ” Hermione added gleefully.

And then had the nerve to hang up on her.

Harry brought the mobile away from her head to stare at it with growing disbelief. “Did she just hang up on me?” she couldn't help but ask.

“She did,” Fon said, and there was something in his voice that removed almost all thoughts of Ron and Hermione from her head.

When she snapped her gaze to him, Fon was staring at her with a heated intensity that made her stomach flip-flop a little.

“Uh,” was her eloquent response. Unable to tear her eyes away from Fon's, she wordlessly held out his mobile to him.

Fon plucked it from her fingers and slid it back into a hidden pocket she wasn't paying any attention to right now.

She got the feeling that the only reason he didn't do anything, like, say, kiss her senseless right then, was because of the very public setting.

Harry swallowed dryly, overly aware of Fon following the motion of her throat with his eyes.

The wing draped across her back, her wings, tightened its hold on her, wrapping halfway around her and partially hiding her from view.

With complete disregard for everyone around them, all the social norms Harry had seen and read about utterly ignored, he bent down to give her a slow, languid kiss.

Harry leaned into the man, slotting her lips against his to get closer, the kiss stock full of promises and smouldering desire.

Fon's lips parted to suck on her lower lip, biting playfully before dragging his tongue over the sensitive flesh.

Harry gave a quiet, happy sigh.

By the time Fon straightened, Harry was flushed and panting lightly and definitely feeling like she wanted to get out of here and somewhere more private.

Harry blinked at an inordinately pleased-looking Fon, before she glanced around the restaurant.

Most people didn't seem to have noticed anything, but there was an old lady on the other side of the room who was staring at them with a _scandalized_ look on her wrinkled, weather-worn face.

Harry sent her a sheepish, mildly apologetic smile that didn't seem to do anything to soothe the woman's upset sensibilities.

“We should settle our bill and leave,” Fon said lightly, sounding perfectly unaffected by the kiss they'd just shared.

She could feel how tense he was, though, pressed into his side as she was, and his wing hadn't removed itself from her even a little.

“Sure,” Harry agreed.

.

They flew back to Fon's flat.

There was a heated lump in her stomach the entire flight, and Harry was impatient to finally do something about it.

And no matter what Ron and Hermione said; talking with Fon was easy, it just... didn't feel necessary?

They simply fit together. Like they slotted together seamlessly, without issue or any of the dramatics that had been so abundant at Hogwarts.

The moment they were inside the door, Fon backed her up against it, boxing her in with his body.

Harry leaned up to lock their lips together, taking the initiative to lick at Fon's lower lip in clear invitation to deepen it.

An invitation Fon wasted no time accepting.

It was the first time – other than earlier – that any kiss they'd shared had grown to be something more than a simple press of lips.

It was- fantastic.

Tongues sliding together, Harry let her hands smooth up Fon's chest, up his shoulders, until she could wrap her arms around his neck and tangle one hand in his hair, probably pulling a bit on it due to the braid.

Fon didn't seem to mind, because he pressed her even more firmly up against the door, his body taunt and hard against her own.

“You've got a good family,” he breathed against her lips when they separated just enough to be able to catch their breaths.

“They're the best,” Harry agreed breathlessly, trying to get any wiggle-room to _move_.

Fon didn't let her.

“You're close with them,” he murmured, slipping his hands up under the hem of her shirt.

“They're the- only family I've- ever known,” Harry replied disjointedly, tipping her head back and tugging on Fon's hair.

“I have a sister,” Fon admitted before he crushed his mouth onto hers in another searing kiss. “She's studying to be a lawyer,” he added the next time he had the breath to spare for talking.

“Godson,” Harry returned in a distracted murmur, wrapping her legs around Fon's hips and pulling him flush against her.

Fon groaned quietly against the side of her throat, before latching on to the skin with his mouth, tilting his hips to grind against her, making both of them moan.

Harry's wings trembled against the wall on either side of her, having opened slightly to avoid being trapped between her body and the wall Fon had her pushed up against. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but Harry hardly noticed.

Scratching her blunt nails against Fon's scalp, Harry focused on breathing through the gut-clenching sensation of Fon sucking on the skin of her throat.

“Fon,” she panted, tugging on his hair again to get his attention, though she wasn't sure what she wanted to say.

Fon seemed to get it anyway, because he stepped away from her to tug her shirt over her head and toss it aside, having seen her do it herself enough times to know it wouldn't get tangled in her wings.

He took a second to eye the bra she was wearing underneath, before that too joined the shirt on the floor.

Hooking his fingers into the hem of Harry's trousers, he pulled her away from the door and further into the flat, clearly aiming for the bed and she had absolutely no complaints about that. At all.

Harry grinned and followed after him.

Madam Pomfrey had supplied her with an excellent contraceptive potion before she'd left Britain, and without the counter-potion, it would last a while longer, and she'd have to remember to thank the woman the next time she saw her.

.

Afterwards, the two of them were lying in bed together, and Harry was possibly basking just a little.

Head resting on Fon's chest, the man utterly relaxed. She traced the dragon tattooed on his skin with her fingers, before she dropped her hand down to gently brush over his tousled feathers, half-heartedly trying to smooth them down.

Fon's breathing was slow and steady and it wasn't even noon, but a nap sounded like it might be nice.

Sunlight was streaming into the small flat through the one window, she was comfortable, feeling pleasantly spent and utterly safe.

There were possibly a few things they should talk about, but Harry closed her eyes with a content sigh.

There'd be time to talk after a nap, she decided, and shifted her wings to get more comfortable.

Fingers still tangled in Fon's feathers, Harry let herself drift off.

-x-x-x-


End file.
